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C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


CARMINA 


By 

T.  A.  DALY 

Author  of  "  Canzoni  " 


IJy'V^ 


NEW  YORK 

JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 

MCMXIV 


Copyright  by  T.  A.  Daly,  1906,  1907,  1908 
Copyright  by  John  Lan£  Company,  1909 


,^>^' 


7 


Tkf  Plimpton  Press  Norwood  Mass.  US.A. 


Co 
•HERSELF' 


304237 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE 

The  verses  in  this  collection  were  printed 
originally  in  the  "  Catholic  Standard  and  Times," 
with  the  exception  of  four  of  those  in  Italian 
dialect.  For  permission  to  include  these  in  this 
book  thanks  are  due  to  the  "American  Maga- 
zine," "Reader  Magazine,"  and  "Associated 
Sunday  Magazines."  Of  the  seventy-eight  titles 
between  these  covers  ten  are  reprinted,  with  some 
slight  revisions,  from  the  author's  first  book  of 
verse,  "  Canzoni." 


CONTENTS 


ITALICE  PAGE 

Two  'Mericana  Men 3 

Da  Sweeta  Soil 5 

Leetla  Joe 8 

A  Guide  to  Italy 10 

Da  Boy  from  Rome 13 

Da  Coward  Dagoman 15 

--  Padre  Angelo 18 

In  the  Hurly-Burly 22 

Apologia  Pro  Vita  Sua 24 

m^^  Mia  Carlotta 27 

The  Lonely  Honeymoon 29 

To  THE  Dyspeptic 32 

—    Leetla  Giorgio  Washeenton 35 

The  Busy  Wife 38 

The  Audience 41 

Da  Besta  Frand        44 

All*s  Well  That  Ends  Well 47 

The  Laborer  and  his  Hire 49 

"^"^T^ETWEEN  Two  Loves 52 

The  April  Wind        54 

Three  to  One 56 

The  Italian  Moon 58 

His  Interested  Friend 60 

Padre  Domineec 62 

Een  Napoli 64 

Giuseppe  to  His  Dog 65 

The  Harbinger 67 

An  After-Dinner  Thought 69 

Yearning 72 

ix 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 
GlAC   FiNELLI 74 

From  a  Car  Window 76 

Da  Leetla  Boy 79*4* 

HIBERNICE 

The  Meltin*  o'  the  Snow S3 

The  Irish  National  Bird 86 

The  Irish  Bird-Charmer 88 

CORDAYLIA  O*   THE   ALLEY po 

Heartless  Sheila  Shea 93 

The  Song  of  the  Thrush 95 

The  Ould  Apple  Woman 97 

The  Mourner 100 

Ould  Phelim  McKeone 105 

The  Irish  Bachelor 109 

A  Song  of  Riches iii 

The  Homing  Girl 113 

News  o*  the  World 117 

The  Son  of  his  Father 119 

The  Peaceable  Race 121 

The  Day  We  Celebrate 124 

MoNA  Machree 126 

Ould  Barney  to  the  Boy 128 

Glimmerings  of  Patriotism 130 

A  Bit  of  a  Riddle 133 

Cornaylius  Ha-Ha-Ha-Hannigan 136 

The  Pauper  at  the  Gate 139 

The  Omadhaun 142 

ANGLICE 

Hark  Ye!  Merrie  Gleemen! 147 

October 149 

The  Castle  Impregnable 151 

The  Poet 154 

On  a  May  Morning 156 

To  a  Robin 157 


CONTENTS  xi 

PAGE 

The  Journey^s  End 159 

All  Hallows  Eve 160 

The  Day  of  the  Circus  Horse 161 

To  THE  Joy-Bringer 163 

SONGS   OF  THE  MONTHS 

A  Song  for  January 167 

A  Song  for  February 169 

A  Song  for  March 171 

A  Song  for  April 173 

A  Song  for  May 176 

A  Song  for  June 178 

A  Song  for  July 180 

A  Song  for  August 182 

A  Song  for  September 184 

A  Song  for  October 186 

A  Song  for  November 189 

A  Song  for  December 190 

L'ENVOI 

To  a  Tenant .  192 


I  T  A  L  I  C  E 


I  T  A  L  I  C  E 


TWO     'MERICANA     MEN 

BEEG  Irish  cop  dat  walk  hees  beat 
By  dees  peanutta  stan', 
First  two,  free  week  w'en  we  are  meet 

Ees  call  me  "Dagoman." 
An'  w'en  he  see  how  mad  I  gat, 

Wheech  eesa  pleass  heem,  too. 
Wan  day  he  say:  " Wat's  matter  dat, 

Ain't  'Dago'  name  for  you? 
Dat's  'Mericana  name,  you  know, 

For  man  from  Eetaly; 
Eet  ees  no  harm  for  call  you  so. 

Den  why  be  mad  weeth  me?" 
First  time  he  talka  deesa  way 

I  am  too  mad  for  speak. 
But  nexta  time  I  justa  say: 

"All  righta  Meester  Meeck!" 

O!  my,  I  newa  hear  bayfore 
Sooch  langwadge  like  he  say; 


C  A  R  M  IN  A 


An'  he  don't  look  at  me  no  more 

For  mebbe  two,  free  day. 
But  pretta  soon  agen  I  see 

Dees  beeg  poleecaman 
Dat  com'  an'  growl  an'  say  to  me; 

"Hallo,  Eyetalian! 
Now,  mebbe  so  you  gon'  deny 

Dat  dat'sa  name  for  you." 
I  smila  back  an'  mak'  reply: 

"No,  Irish,  dat'sa  true." 
"Ha!  Joe,"  he  cry,  "you  theenk  dat  we 

Should  call  you  'Merican?" 
"Dat's  gooda  'nough,"  I  say,  "for  me, 

Eef  dat's  w'at  you  are,  Dan." 

So  now  all  times  we  speaka  so 

Like  gooda  'Merican: 
He  say  to  me  "Good  moma,  Joe," 

I  say,  "Good  moma,  Dan." 


C ARMIN A 


DA   SWEETA   SOIL 

ALL  weenter-time  I  work  for  deeg 
Da  tranch  een  ceety  street, 
An'  I  am  looka  like  da  peeg 

An'  smal  jus'  'bout  as  sweet, 
Baycause  my  ban's,  my  face,  my  clo'es 

Ees  dirty  as  can  be. 
An'  sewer-gas  ees  een  my  nose 

An'  steeck  all  ovra  me. 
More  dirty  an'  more  mean  I  feel 

Dan  I  am  look  to  you; 
My  soul  eenside  ees  seeck,  but  steell, 

Wat  am  I  gona  do? 
Ees  notheeng  sweet  een  ceety  street 

For  mak'  me  better  man. 
All  men  an'  theengs  dat  I  am  meet 

Mak'  meanness  all  dey  can. 
An'  all  dey  speak  ees  ogly  words 

An'  do  som'  ogly  theeng. 
So  even,  too,  dose  leetla  birds, 

Dat  ought  be  glad  an'  seeng, 


C  ARMIN  A 


Dey  fight  each  other  een  da  dirt 

For  dirty  food  dey  eat. 
Ah!  so  my  soul  eenside  ees  hurt 

For  work  een  ceety  street. 

But  yestaday!    Oh,  yestaday, 

I  leeve,  I  breathe  again! 
Da  boss  ees  sand  me  far  away 

For  work  een  countra  lane. 
How  can  I  mak'  you  ondrastand  — 

You  are  so  grand,  so  reech  — 
To  know  da  joy  I  feel,  my  frand, 

For  deeg  dees  countra  deetch? 
I  sweeng  my  peeck,  an'  Oh!  da  smal, 

Wen  first  I  turn  da  sod! 
So  sweet!    Escuse  me  eef  I  tal 

Ees  like  da  breath  of  God. 
So  pure  da  soil,  like  Eetaly, 

I  stoop  an'  taka  piece 
An'  den  —  Oh!  donta  laugh  at  me  — 

I  talk  to  eet  and  keess! 
An'  while  I  do  dees  foola  theeng 

An'  mak'  so  seelly  tears, 


C ARMIN A 


Ees  com'  a  pritta  bird  an'  seeng 

Hees  music  een  my  ears. 
You  know  dees  'Mericana  bird, 

Weeth  breast  so  lika  flame, 
So  red;  I  do  not  know  da  word 

You  say  for  call  hees  name, 
But  w'at  he  seeng  ees  plain  to  me, 

An'  dees  ees  part  of  eet: 
"Ees  spreeng,  ees  spreeng  een  Eetaly, 

So  sweeta,  sweeta,  sweet!" 

Oh,  eef  you  weesh  da  Dagoman, 

Dat  com'  for  leeve  weeth  you. 
To  be  da  gooda  'Merican 

An'  love  dees  countra,  too, 
I  ask  you  tak'  heem  by  da  hand, 

Away  from  ceety  street, 
An'  show  heem  first  dees  granda  land 

Where  eet  ees  pure  an'  sweet. 


C  ARMIN  A 


LEETLA   JOE 

LEETLA  Joe  he  always  say: 
"Wen  I  am  beeg  man  som'  day, 

Eef  so  be  I  gona  grow 
Strong  an'  fat  so  like  my  Pop, 
I  weell  go  for  be  a  cop, 

Mebbe  so." 
Soocha  talk  for  four-year-old! 
Dough  he  brag  so  beeg  an'  bold 
Een  wan  handa  you  could  hold 

Leetla  Joe. 

Leetla  Joe  he  lay  hees  cheek 
On  my  breast  w'en  he  ees  seeck. 

Squeeze  my  arm  an'  tal  me:  "Oh! 
Pretta  soon  I  gona  gat 
Granda  muscle  lika  dat. 

W'en  I  grow 
Like  my  Pop  how  proud  I  be! 
Justa  wait  an'  you  weell  see." 
Ah!  so  sweet  to  hug  to  me 

Leetla  Joe! 


C ARMIN A 


But,  baycause  I'm  'fraid  dat  he 
Wan  day  would  be  'shame'  of  me,  — 

'Shame'  for  call  me  "Pop"  an'  know, 
Wen  he's  fina  'Merican, 
I'm  so  poor  old  Dagoman  — 

Wen  I  go 
Where  hees  grave  ees  on  da  heell, 
Dere  ees  joy  for  me  to  feel 
Dat  my  heart  can  keep  heem  steell 

Leetla  Joe. 


lo  CARMINA 


A   GUIDE    TO   ITALY 

EH?    You  are  sail  for  Eetaly? 
Oh,  my!  I  weesh  I  gon'  weeth  you! 
I  show  you  all  da  place  to  see 
An'  all  da  besta  peopla,  too; 
An'  evratheeng  you  want,  my  frand. 

So  you  could  know,  w'en  you  are  through, 
All  theengs  een  dat  so  granda  land  — 
Oh,  my!  I  weesh  I  gon'  weeth  you! 

Eh?    Sure!    I  know  da  Ian'  so  wal 

I  geeve  advice  bayfore  you  go; 
I  tal  you  all  you  want  me  tal. 

Wat  ees  eet  you  weell  like  for  know  ? 
Da  churcha?    No,  not  Rome,  my  frand. 

I  tal  you  eef  you  want  for  see 
Da  fines'  wans  een  all  da  land 

You  musta  go  for  Napoli. 
Da  music?    You  are  fond  of  eet? 

Wal  den,  baylieve  me  eef  I  say 
Ees  no  wan  play  so  gran',  so  sweet 


CARMINA  II 

Like  Banda  Napoli  ees  play. 
Wat  kinda  wine  ?    Chianti!    Oh, 

My  frand,  you  must  have  taste  of  dat. 
Da  best  ees  mak'  from  grapes  dat  grow 

By  Napoli,  so  beeg,  so  fat  — 
Eh?    Where  da  besta  peopla  leeve? 

Wal,  now,  I  want  you  com'  to  me 
Bayfore  you  sail  an'  I  weel  geeve 

You  names  som'  frands  een  Napoli  — 
Eh?    Where  da  pritta  ladies  ees? 

Ah,  my!    Ravenna  ees  da  place. 
Not  Napoli,  for  findin'  dese. 

Ravenna  girls  ees  gotta  face 
So  sweet,  an'  teeth  so  white  as  snow, 

So  brighta  eyes,  so  black  da  hair  — 
Ravenna  ees  my  town?    Oh!  no. 

My  Rosa  she  ees  com'  from  dere. 
You  know,  I  com'  from  Napoli, 

Dat's  how  I  know  so  mooch  to  tal 
About  da  besta  theengs  to  see; 

You  see,  I  know  dem  vera  wal. 


12  CARMINA 

Eh?    Wal,  good-day,  my  frand.     Oh,  no, 

I  glad  for  tal  you  w'at  to  do 
Een  Eetaly,  bayfore  you  go  — 

Oh,  my,  I  weesh  I  gon'  weeth  you! 


CARMINA  13 


DA   BOY   FROM   ROME 

TO-DAY  ees  com'  from  Eetaly 
A  boy  ees  leeve  een  Rome, 
An'  he  ees  stop  an'  speak  weeth  me  — 
I  weesh  he  stay  at  home. 

He  stop  an'  say  "Hallo,"  to  me, 

An'  w'en  he  standin'  dere 
I  smal  da  smal  of  Eetaly 

Steell  steeckin'  een  hees  hair, 
Dat  com'  weeth  heem  across  da  sea, 

An'  een  da  clo'es  he  wear. 

Da  peopla  bomp  heem  een  da  street, 
De  noise  ees  scare  heem,  too; 

He  ees  so  clumsy  een  da  feet 
He  don't  know  w'at  to  do, 

Dere  ees  so  many  theeng  he  meet 
Dat  ees  so  strange,  so  new. 

He  sheever  an'  he  ask  eef  here 
Eet  ees  so  always  cold. 


14  CARMINA 

Den  een  hees  eye  ees  com'  a  tear  — 

He  ees  no  vera  old  — 
An',  oh,  hees  voice  ees  soun'  so  queer 

I  have  no  heart  for  scold. 

He  look  up  een  da  sky  so  gray, 

But  oh,  hees  eye  ees  be 
So  far  away,  so  far  away. 

An'  w'at  he  see  I  see. 
Da  sky  eet  ees  no  gray  to-day 

At  home  een  Eetaly. 

He  see  da  glada  peopla  seet 
Where  warma  shine  da  sky  — 

Oh,  while  he  eesa  look  at  eet 
He  ees  baygeen  to  cry. 

Eef  I  no  growl  an'  swear  a  beet 
So,  too,  my  frand,  would  I. 

Oh,  why  he  stop  an'  speak  weeth  me. 
Dees  boy  dat  leeve  een  Rome, 

An'  com'  to-day  from  Eetaly? 
I  weesh  he  stay  at  home. 


CARMINA  15 


DA   COWARD   DAGOMAN 

INEWA  see  Eetalian 
Dat  ees  so  scare',  so  coward  man, 
Like  Malatesta,  from  Milan. 
You  bat  my  life,  hees  —  w'at  you  call  ?  — 
Hees  "cheecken-heart"  eet  ees  so  small 
You  can  no  find  da  theeng  at  all! 
Eh  ?    Don't  you  read  een  paper  how 
Som'body  stab  heem  een  da  row 
Dat  happen  lasta  Frida'  night? 
Eh?    No,  he  ees  alive  all  right; 
But  now  w'en  he  ees  gattin'  wal. 
An'  all  poleece  ees  ask  heem  tal 
Who  ees  da  man  dat  cut  heem  so, 
He  justa  say:  "I  don'ta  know." 
Now,  w'at  you  theenk  sooch  coward  mian 
Like  Malatesta  from  Milan? 
I  tal  you  w'at,  eet  mak'  me  seeck  — 
Eh?  sure  he  know  who  do  da  treeck! 
But  he  ees  scare'  for  tal,  my  fraud. 
For  dat  he  fear  da  Blacka  Hand. 


i6  CARMINA 

Eh  ?    Wat  ?    Of  course  ees  true.    I  know, 

Or  else  I  would  no  tal  you  so. 

Yes,  I  am  sure!  baycause  I  see 

Dat  bada  man  from  Seecily, 

Dat  leeve  een  jail  mos'  all  hees  life, 

Giuseppe  Galdi,  pull  hees  knife 

An'  den,  so  lika  cat,  so  queeck, 

He  mak'  da  jompa  —  So !  —  an'  steeck 

Poor  Malatesta  deesa  way! 

Den — presto!  he  is  gon'  an' — eh? 

Why  I  don't  tal  dem  w'at  I  see  ? 

Me  tal  poleece ?    Escusa  me! 

You  see,  I  jus'  was  gona  say 

So  queeck  da  bad  man  run  away  — 

An',  too,  my  eyes  ees  poor  at  night  — 

You  see,  ees  mebbe  so  I  might 

Be  wrong  'bout  Galdi.     Sooch  meestak' 

Ees  posseeble,  you  know,  to  mak'. 

Baysides,  w'at  for  I  care  ?    You  see, 

Eet  ees  no  beezaness  for  me. 

Da  man  dat's  cut  he  ees  da  best 

To  tal  poleece  for  mak'  arrest. 

But  Malatesta,  from  Milan, 


CARMINA  17 

He  eesa  coward  Dagoman; 

Hees  cheecken-heart  eet  ees  so  small 

You  can  no  find  da  theeng  at  all! 


i8  CARMINA 


PADRE   ANGELO 

PADRE  Angelo  he  say: 
"Why  you  no  gat  married,  eh? 
You  are  maka  playnta  mon' 
For  gon'  taka  wife,  my  son." 
"No;  I  am  too  beeza  man 
'Tandin'  dees  peanutta  stan'. 
I  no  gatta  time  for  play 
Fooleeshness  weeth  girls,"  I  say. 
"My!  you  don'ta  tal  me  so?" 
Ees  say  Padre  Angelo. 

Bimeby,  mebbe  two,  free  day, 
Younga  girl  she  com'  an'  say: 
"Padre  Angelo  ees  here? 
No?    Eet  eesa  vera  queer! 
Heesa  housakeepa  say 
I  gon'  find  heem  deesa  way." 
While  she  eesa  speaka  so 
Ees  com'  Padre  Angelo. 
"Rosa!  you  are  look  for  me?'* 


CARMINA  19 

He  ees  say  to  her,  an'  she 
Say:  "Oh,  pleass,  go  homa,  queeck, 
You  are  want'  for  som'  wan  seeck. 
I  am  sand  for  find  you  here." 
"Ah!  da  seecka-call,  my  dear. 
ComV'  say  Padre  Angelo, 
"Deesa  younga  man  ees  Joe; 
Shaka  han's  bayfore  we  go." 
So  I  am  shak'  han's  weeth  her  — 
Leetla  han'  so  sof '  like  fur  — 
Den  she  bow  to  me  an'  go 
Weetha  Padre  Angelo. 

Bimeby,  s'pose  two,  free  day  more, 

She  ees  com'  jus'  like  bayfore, 

An'  she  aska  me:  "You  know 

Where  ees  Padre  Angelo? 

Housakeep'  she  tal  me  wait 

Eef  he  don't  be  vera  late." 

So  I  tal  her  taka  seat 

An'  to  hav'  som'  fruit  for  eat. 

Den  I  talk  to  her  an'  she 

Smila  sweet  an'  talk  to  me; 


20  CARMINA 

How  long  time  I  donta  know. 

Den  com'  Padre  Angelo. 

"Oh,"  she  say,  "go  homa  queeck. 

You  are  want'  for  som'  wan  seeck." 

"My!"  he  say,  "dese  seecka-call! 

I  am  gat  no  peace  at  all." 

"Oh,  wal,  com',  my  dear,"  he  say, 

An'  he  takin'  her  way. 

I  am  sad  for  see  her  go 

Weetha  Padre  Angelo. 

Many  times  ees  lika  dat. 
Peopla  always  seem  for  gat 
Seecka  when  he  ees  away. 
Rosa  com'  mos'  evra  day. 
An'  som'  time  she  gatta  stay 
Pretta  longa  time,  you  know, 
Teell  com'  Padre  Angelo. 
Steell  I  no  gat  any  keeck 
How  mooch  peopla  gatta  seeck; 
I  am  feela  glad  dey  do  — 
Rosa,  she  no  keeckin',  too. 


CARMINA  21 

Lasta  night  my  Rosa  she 

Go  to  Padre  weetha  me, 

An'  I  tal  heem:    "Pretta  soon  — 

Mebbe  so  da  firsta  June  — 

Rosa  gona  be  my  wife!" 

He  ees  s'prise',  you  bat  my  life! 

"Wat?"  he  say,  an'  rub  hees  eyes, 

"Dees  ees  soocha  glada  s'prise! 

My!  you  don'ta  tal  me  so?" 

Ees  say  Padre  Angelo. 


22  CARMINA 


IN  THE   HURLY-BURLY 

I  GOTTA  stand  een  Walla  Street, 
But  beez'ness  don'ta  pay, 
For  no  wan  here  got  time  for  eat; 

So  I  gon'  mova  'way. 
Grand,  reecha  men  dey  hurry  past 

Een  sunshine,  een  da  rain; 
An'  oh,  dey  go  so  fast,  so  fast, 

Eet  geeve  my  heada  pain. 
I  gotta  fines'  fruit  far  sal 

You  findin'  anywhere, 
But  steell  I  mighta  jus'  as  wal 

Be  dead  fur  w'at  dey  care. 
Ees  only  wan  theeng  here  I  love  — 

Dose  birds  dat  feed  een  street; 
I  s'pose  you  mebbe  call  dem  "dove"  — 

Eh  ?    "  Peegeon  ?  "    Yes,  dat's  eet. 
All  day  dey  fly  about  my  stand 

An'  som'  of  dem  I  mak' 
For  justa  seet  upon  my  hand 

An'  eata  nut  an'  cak'. 


CARMINA  23 

But  steell  da  'Mericans  go  by 

An'  nevva  look  at  me. 
Dey  got  so  strange  look  een  da  eye; 

I  wondra  w'at  dey  see. 
Wance  only  was  dere  wan  so  good 

An'  kind  to  stop  een  street 
An'  throw  dose  pretta  birds  som'  food 

An'  wait  for  watch  dem  eat. 
"Ah!  here,"  I  theenk,  "ees  granda  man," 

But  pretta  soon  I  see 
Ees  justa  drunka  'Merican  — 

So  drunk  as  he  can  be. 
So  I  am  seeck  weeth  Walla  Street, 

For  beez'ness  don'ta  pay; 
Ees  no  wan  here  got  time  for  eat, 

So  I  gon'  mova  'way. 


24  CARMINA 


APOLOGIA    PRO    VITA    SUA 

W'AT  for  you  call  me  *^Dago  man," 
An'  mak'  so  bada  face? 
Ees  no  room  for  Eetalian 
Een  deesa  bigga  place? 

I  s'pose  you  are  more  better  dan 

Da  Dago  man  could  be. 
But,  pleassa,  Meester  'Merican, 

I  ask  you  wait  and  see. 
How  long  you  leeve  een  deesa  land? 

Eh?    Thirta-seven  year? 
Ees  onla  seexa  mont',  my  fraud, 

Seence  I  am  comin'  here. 
I  weesh  you  geeve  me  time  for  try 

An'  see  w'at  I  can  do, 
So  mebbe  I  gon'  be,  bimeby. 

So  gooda  man  like  you. 
Baycause  I  am  so  strong,  I  guess 

I  gon'  do  pretta  wal. 


CARMINA  25 

So  long  I  'tand  to  beezaness 

An'  jus'  bayhave  mysal'. 
My  leetla  cheeldren,  too,  ees  strong  — 

Eh  ?    You  no  gotta  none  ? 
You  married,  Meester?    Eh?    How  long? 

Twalve  year!  an'  no  got  wan? 
Oh,  I  am  sad  for  you,  my  frand  — 

Eh?    Why  you  laugh  at  me? 
Escuse!    I  do  not  ondrastand; 

I  am  so  strange,  you  see. 
My  ^^keeds  ees  no  good  breed,"  you  say? 

Ah!  wal,  ees  mebbe  not. 
But  dey  weell  be  more  good  som'  day 

Dan  dose  you  don'ta  got; 
An'  dey  be  stronga  'Merican, 

More  strong  dan  you  are,  too. 
Ees  notta  many  Dago  man 

So  skeenny  lika  you. 
Oh!  pleass,  my  frand,  no  gatta  mad! 

Shak'  han'  bayfore  you  go. 
Escusa  me!  I  am  so  sad 

For  speakin'  to  you  so. 


26  CARMINA 

But  why  you  call  me  "Dago  man" 
An'  mak'  so  bada  face? 

Ees  no  room  for  Eetalian 
Een  deesa  bigga  place? 


CARMINA  27 


MIA   CARLOTTA 

GIUSEPPE,  da   barber,  ees  greata  for 
^^mash," 
He  gotta  da  bigga,  da  blacka  moustache, 
Good  clo'es  an'  good  styla  an'  pla)nita  good 
cash. 

W'enevra  Giuseppe  ees  walk  on  da  street, 
Da  peopla  dey  talka,  "how  nobby!  how  neat! 
How  softa  da  handa,  how  smalla  da  feet." 

He  leefta  hees  hat  an'  he  shaka  hees  curls. 
An'  smila  weeth  teetha  so  shiny  like  pearls; 
Oh,  manny  da  heart  of  da  seelly  young  girls 

He  gotta. 
Yes,  playnta  he  gotta  — 

But  notta 

Carlotta! 

Giuseppe,  da  barber,  he  maka  da  eye, 
An'  lika  da  steam  engine  puffa  an'  sigh, 
For  catcha  Carlotta  w'en  she  ees  go  by. 


28  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

Carlotta  she  walka  weeth  nose  in  da  air, 
An'  look  through  Giuseppe  weeth  far-away- 
stare, 
As  eef  she  no  see  dere  ees  som'body  dere. 

Giuseppe,  da  barber,  he  gotta  da  cash, 
He  gotta  da  clo'es  an'  da  bigga  moustaehe, 
He    gotta    da    seelly    young   girls    for    da 
"  mash," 

But  notta  — 
You  bat  my  hfe,  notta  — 
Carlotta. 
I  gotta! 


CARMINA  29 


THE   LONELY  HONEYMOON 

YOU  know  dees  Joe  dat  use'  to  go 
For  work  weeth  me,  Signor? 
He's  marry,  yestaday,  you  know, 

An'  gon'  for  Baltimore; 
An'  so  deesgusta  man  like  Joe 
You  nevva  see  bayfore! 

Eh?  No,  da  girl's  all  right,  my  frand; 

Dat's  mak'  eet  harder,  too. 
Ha!  wait  an'  you  weell  ondrastand  — 

I  tal  eet  all  to  you. 
You  see,  dees  Joe  long  time  ago 

Gat  Rosa  for  hees*  mash. 
An'  evra  seence  he  worka  so 

For  mak'  an'  save  da  cash, 
Baycause  he  want  gat  marry  soon 

An'  mebbe  takin',  too. 
Dees  —  w'at  you  calla  —  "  honeymoon," 

Like  'Mericana  do. 
Wan  day  he  tak'  fi'-doUar  note 


30  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

An'  go  to  steamsheep  store 
An'  buy  two  teecket  for  da  boat 

Dat  sail  for  Baltimore. 
An'  den  he  tal  me:  "Shut  your  mout' 

An'  justa  looka  wise. 
Dees  theeng  ees  no  for  talka  'bout; 

Eet  gona  be  su'prise." 
So,  w'en  dey  marry  yestaday 

He  smile  so  proud,  Signor, 
W'en  he  ees  keess  her  cheek  an'  say: 

"We  sail  for  Baltimore!" 
Ah!  den,  my  fraud,  so  sadda  sight 

You  nevva  see.     Oh,  my! 
Poor  Rosa  she  ees  gat  so  white 

An'  ees  baygeen  to  cry. 
"Ees  dees,"  she  say,  "a  weddin'  treep? 

Sooch  fooleeshness  you  speak! 
I  no  can  stand  eet  een  a  sheep, 

Da  sea  ees  mak'  me  seeck." 
Poor  Joe,  he  swear  an'  den  he  keess, 

An'  coax  an'  beg  her  so. 
For  theenk  of  all  dat  she  weell  meess  — 

But  no,  she  weell  no  go. 


CARMINA  31 

"O!  Rosa  mia!"  Joe  ees  cry, 

**Your  heart  eet  ees  a  stone, 
For  dat  you  mak'  me  say  ^ good-bye^ 

An'  tak'  da  treep  alone!" 

Oh,  lonely  honeymoon,  an'  oh, 

So  sadda  man,  Signor, 
Dat  gotta  leave  hees  wife  an'  go 

Alone  for  Baltimore! 
So  hearta-broka  man  like  Joe 

You  nevva  see  bayfore. 


32  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


TO   THE   DYSPEPTIC 

MY  frand,  you  would  like  I  should  tal 
w'at  I  theenk; 
You  weesh  me  advisin'  you,  too? 
Wal,  den,  eet  ees  justa  da  food  an'  da  dreenk; 

Dat's  all  dat's  da  matter  weeth  you! 
O!  'Merican  man,  you  are  maka  meestak' 

For  eata  so  moocha  da  meat. 
W'at  for  you  no  learn,  for  your  stomacha 
sak', 
W'at  theengs  ees  da  besta  for  eat  ? 
You  lika  roas'  beef  an'  you  lika  da  pie, 

An'  all  so  reech  fooda  like  dat; 
An'  den  you  weell  growl  an'  you  wondra  for 
why 
Sooch  pain  een  da  stomach  you  gat. 
You  evva  see  Dagoman  seeck  from  hees 
food? 
I  bat  you  fi'-doUa,  not  mooch! 
Baycause  for  hees  eatin'  he  finda  more  good 
Een  fruit  an'  da  salad  an'  sooch. 


CARMINA  33 

Da  vegetabals  dat  ees  grow  een  da  spreeng 

Ees  vera  bes'  food  you  can  gat, 
So  how  you  gon'  'scusa  dees  fooleesha  theeng 

You  do  to  Giuseppe  Baratt'  ? 
Giuseppe  —  Giuseppe      da      barber,      you 
know  — 
He  tal  me  you  com'  een  hees  place. 
An',  while  he  ees  shave  you,  you  growl  at 
heem  so 
An'  maka  sooch  frown  weeth  your  face, 
Baycause  he  no  lika  da  same  kinda  food 

Dat  mak'  a  man  cranky  like  you. 
You  tal  heem  da  stuff  dat  he  eat  ees  no 
good; 
He  tal  me  you  swear  at  heem,  too  — 
Eh?    Yes,  dees  young  onion  dat  grow  een 
da  spreeng. 
So  tender,  so  juicy,  so  sweet! 
You  think  ees  no  right  he  should  eat  soocha 
theeng  ? 
Dat's  vera  bes'  food  you  can  eat! 
You  would  no  be  crank  eef  you  theenk  like 
I  theenk; 


34  CARMINA 

You  gona  be  happier,  too. 
You  no  ondrastan'  da  good  food  an'  good 
dreenk; 
Dat's  all  dat's  da  matter  weeth  you. 


CARMINA  35 

LEETLA   GIORGIO 
WASHEENTON 

YOU  know  w'at  for  ees  school  keep  out 
Dees  holiday,  my  son? 
Wal,  den,  I  gona  tal  you  'bout 
Dees  Giorgio  Washeenton. 

Wal,  Giorgio  was  leetla  keed 

Ees  leeve  long  time  ago. 
An'  he  gon'  school  for  learn  to  read 

An'  write  hees  nam',  you  know. 
He  moocha  like  for  gona  school 

An'  leama  hard  all  day, 
Baycause  he  no  gat  time  for  fool 

Weeth  bada  keeds  an'  play. 
Wal,  wan  cold  day  w'en  Giorgio 

Ees  steell  so  vera  small. 
He  start  from  home,  but  he  ees  no 

Show  up  een  school  at  all! 
Oh,  my!  hees  Pop  ees  gatta  mad 

An'  so  he  tal  hees  wife: 


36  CARMINA 

*^Som  leetla  boy  ees  gon'  feel  bad 

To-day,  you  bat  my  life!" 
An'  den  he  grab  a  bigga  steeck 

An'  gon'  out  een  da  snow 
An'  lookin'  all  aroun'  for  seek 

Da  leetla  Giorgio. 
Ha!  w'at  you  theenk?    Firs'  theeng  he  see 

Where  leetla  boy  he  stan', 
All  tangla  up  een  cherry  tree, 

Weeth  hatchet  een  hees  han'. 
''Ha!  w'at  you  do?"  hees  Pop  he  say, 

"W'at  for  you  busta  rule 
An'  stay  away  like  dees  for  play 

Eenstead  for  gon'  to  school?" 
Da  boy  ees  say:  "I  no  can  lie, 

An'  so  I  speaka  true. 
I  stay  away  from  school  for  try 

An'  gat  som'  wood  for  you. 
I  theenka  deesa  cherry  tree 

Ees  gooda  size  for  chop. 
An'  so  I  cut  heem  down,  you  see, 

For  justa  help  my  Pop." 
Hees  Pop  he  no  can  gatta  mad, 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  37 

But  looka  please'  an'  say: 
"My  leetla  boy,  I  am  so  glad 
You  taka  holiday." 

Ees  good  for  leetla  boy,  you  see, 

For  be  so  bright  an'  try 
For  help  hees  Pop ;  so  den  he  be 

A  granda  man  bimeby. 
So  now  you  gotta  holiday 

An'  eet  ees  good,  you  know, 
For  you  gon'  do  da  sama  way 

Like  leetla  Giorgio. 
Don't  play  so  mooch,  but  justa  stop, 

Eef  you  want  be  som'  good. 
An'  try  for  help  your  poor  old  Pop 

By  carry  home  som'  wood; 
An'  mebbe  so  like  Giorgio 

You  grow  for  be  so  great 
You  gona  be  da  Presidant  - — '"^ 

Of  dese  Unita  State'- 


38  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


THE   BUSY   WIFE 

SEE  dat,  Signer?    See,  dere  she  go. 
Ah!  look,  she  wave  her  hand! 
She's  Rosa;  dat's  my  wife,  you  know. 

Oh,  granda  girl,  my  frand. 
Ees  notheeng  look  to  me  so  sweet 

An'  mak'  me  feel  so  good 
Like  Rosa  walkin'  down  da  street 

Weeth  bigga  loada  wood. 
So  easy,  weeth  eet  on  her  head. 

She  eesa  sweeng  along. 
You  theenk  eet  ees  a  hat  eenstead  — 

Eh?  how  ees  dat  for  strong? 
I  no  could  find  een  all  da  worl', 

You  justa  bat  my  life! 
Anudder  soocha  fina  girl 

Like  Rosa  for  da  wife. 
Eh?    Sure,  I  gotta  mon'  enough. 

Eh?  w'ata  for  I  mak' 
Her  carry  home  sooch  heavy  stuff  ? 

Oh!  my,  you  are  meestak'. 


CARMINA  39 

I  do  not  mak'  her  do  dees  theeng. 

I  mighta  be  a  cop  — 
I  mighta  even  be  da  Keeng  — 

I  no  could  mak'  her  stop. 
She  like  for  doin'  deesa  way; 

She  gat  her  work  to  do 
For  keep  her  beezy  alia  day, 

So  lika  me  an'  you. 
Eh?    Sure  she  ees  Eetalian, 

An'  I  am  proud  —  Eh  ?    Wat  ? 
"She  no  be  gooda  'Merican 

So  long  she  doin'  dat?" 
I  s'posa  w'at  you  say  ees  true, 

But  den,  you  see,  Signor, 
Ees  playnta  theeng  dat  she  might  do 

Ees  gona  hurt  her  more. 
Of  course,  som'  day  I  want  dat  she 

Be  gooda  'Merican, 
But  not  so  good  dat  she  weell  be 

Ashame'  of  Dagoman. 
Som'  'Mericana  girls,  of  course, 

Dey  theenk  they  are  so  good, 
Dey  rather  work  for  gat  Divorce 


40  CARMINA 

Eenstead  for  carry  wood! 
So,  notheeng  look  to  me  so  sweet, 

An'  mak'  me  feel  so  good. 
Like  Rosa  walkin'  down  da  street 

Weeth  bigga  loada  wood. 


CARMINA  41 


THE   AUDIENCE 

IMAK'  not  moocha  mon'  to-day, 
So  few  ees  hear  da  tunes  I  play. 
Long  time  bayfore  da  sun  ees  shine 
I  tak'  dees  street  pian'  of  mine 
An'  pull  eet  out  from  ceety  street 
To  countra  lane,  where  cool  an'  sweet 
Da  morneeng  breeza  blow,  an'  where 
All  theengs  ees  beautiful  an'  fair. 
Oh,  here,  I  theenk,  I  gona  find 
Som'  peopla  so  good-heart'  an'  kind 
Dey  weell  be  glad  for  hear  me  play 
An'  notta  tal  me  "gona  'way!" 
Lika  mosta  do  dat  I  am  meet 
Wen  I  am  play  een  ceety  street. 

I  walk  an'  walk,  but  eet  ees  queer 
I  meet  so  few  da  peopla  here; 
Ees  only  wan  or  two,  but  steell 
I  look  for  more.     I  climb  da  heell 
An'  travel  down  da  hotta  road. 


42  CARMINA 

Da  street  pian'  ees  heavy  load; 
I  am  baygeen  for  feel  da  heat, 
An'  so,  bimeby,  I  stop  an'  seet 
Een  shady  place  bayside  da  way. 
Oh,  I  am  mad!    I  growl  an'  say: 
'^I  mak'  not  moocha  mon'  to-day. 
Wat  for  you  com',  O!  foola  man! 
Where  no  wan  hear  your  street  pian'  ?" 

But,  den,  w'at  s'pose  ees  happen  me  ? 
Firs'  theeng  you  know,  ees  leetla  tree 
Mak'  funny  noisa  where  eet  Stan's. 
So  like  as  eef  eet  clap  eets  ban's! 
Den  gentla  feengers  een  da  air 
Dey  com'  an'  pull  me  by  da  hair; 
Ees  som'thing  een  dees  sweeta  breeze 
Dat  speak  to  me  an'  coax  an'  tease. 
An'  den  da  sky,  so  wide,  so  blue, 
Eet  seem  to  smile  an'  coax  me,  too. 
So  all  theengs  speak,  as  eef  dey  say: 
"Com',  let  us  have  da  music.     Play!" 

I  play  wan  tune  —  yes,  two,  free,  four. 


CARMINA  43 

Like  w'at  I  newa  do  bayfore! 

I  stop.    Da  sky  cry:  "More!"    An'  den 

I  play  dem  evra  wan  agen. 

So,  too,  I  leeft  my  voice  an'  seeng. 

Da  breeze  say  "More!"  to  evratheeng. 

So  all  day  long  ees  lika  dat. 

O!  'Mericana  man,  I  gat 

Som'  curses  an'  som'  food  to  eat. 

Wen  I  am  play  een  ceety  street, 

But  here  da  sky,  da  breeze,  da  tree, 

Dey  speak  Eetalian  to  me! 

I  mak'  not  moocha  mon'  to-day, 
So  few  ees  hear  da  tunes  I  play, 
But  where  is  reecher  man  dan  I 
Dat  play  to  breeze,  an'  tree,  an'  sky? 


44  CARMINA 


DA   BESTA   FRAND 

NO  keeck  my  dog!    Ha!  don'ta  dare! 
For  jus'  so  queeck  you  do, 
You  Meester  'Merican,  I  swear 

I  brack  your  face  for  you! 
Eh?    Wat?    Well,  den,  dat's  alia  right, 

But  let  my  Carlo  be. 
Escusa  me  for  gat  excite' ; 

Com',  look!    I  smila!    See? 
I  want  be  frand  weeth  you,  eef  dat 

You  wanta  be  my  frand. 
But  Carlo  ees  bes'  frand  I  gat 

Een  all  dees  bigga  land. 
An'  he  ees  firsta  'Merican 

For  com'  w'en  I  am  blue 
An'  mak'  me  feela  like  man  — 
I  tal  eet  all  to  you. 

W'en  I  am  com'  from  Eetaly, 

Jus'  landa  from  da  sheep, 
Som'  thief  he  tak'  my  mon'  from  me 


CARMINA  45 

An'  —  presto!  —  he  ees  skeep. 
An'  w'en  I  find  ees  gon',  oh,  my! 

I  scream,  I  pull  my  hair. 
An'  justa  run  aroun'  an'  cry 

Like  crazy  man  an'  swear. 
W'en  com'sa  beeg  poleecaman, 

I  ask,  I  beg  dat  he 
Weell  catcha  thiefa  eef  he  can  — 

He  justa  laugh  at  me! 
I  sect  een  street  —  I  am  so  blue  — 

An'  justa  hold  my  head 
An'  theenk  ^'w'at  am  I  gona  do?" 

An'  weesh  dat  I  am  dead. 
Som'  peopla  com'  an'  look,  but  dey 

Jus'  smile  an'  notta  care; 
So  pretta  soon  dey  gon'  away 

An'  leave  me  seettin'  dere. 
How  long  I  seet  I  no  can  tal; 
'  I  pray,  I  cry,  I  curse  — 
I  bat  you  eef  I  go  to  hal 

I  no  could  feel  more  worse! 
But  while  I  seet  ees  som'theeng  sof 

Dat  touch  my  cheek  an'  w'en 


46  CARMINA 

I  tak'  my  hand  for  brush  eet  off 

Eet  touch  my  cheek  agen. 
I  look.    Ees  justa  leetla  cur 

Dat  wag  hees  yellow  tail! 
An'  blood  ees  on  hees  yellow  fur, 

An'  dere  ees  old  teen  pail 
Tied  on  bayhind.     Poor  leetla  pup! 

But  steell  he  leeck  my  hand, 
As  eef  he  say  to  me:  'Xheer  up! 

I  gona  be  your  frand." 
I  hug  heem  up!    I  am  ashame' 

For  let  heem  see  dat  he 
Ees  justa  dog,  but  alia  same 

Ees  better  man  dan  me. 

So!  dees  ees  Carlo,  Meester  Man; 

I  introduce  to  you. 
Da  true,  da  kinda  'Merican; 

Da  first  I  evva  knew! 


CARMINA  47 


ALL'S    WELL    THAT    ENDS 
WELL 

I  AM  so  glad  as  I  can  be; 
I  seeng,  I  dance,  Signer! 
Ah!  sooch  a  lucky  man  like  me 

You  nevva  see  bayfore! 
Eet  ees  so  like  w'en  sky  ees  gray, 

Den — queeck! — da  sun  bust  through 
An'  drivin'  all  da  cloud  away  — 

I  tal  eet  all  to  you. 
My  wife  an'  me  we  no  can  gat 

To  mak'  our  minds  da  same, 
W'en  leetla  boy  ees  com',  for  w'at 

We  gona  call  hees  name. 
My  Rosa,  dat's  my  wife,  she  say 

She  gotta  besta  right 
For  call  da  keed  her  owna  way, 

An'  so,  my  frand,  we  fight. 
She  say  she  want  her  fadder's  name, 

*^  Giovanni,"  but,  you  see, 
I  want  "Giacobbe"  jus'  da  same. 


48  CARMINA 

Wheech  ees  da  name  for  me. 
Wal,  den  dees  theeng  excite  us  so 

An'  mak'  so  bigga  fuss, 
Ees  com'  my  reecha  Uncla  Joe 

For  feexin'  theengs  for  us. 
But  w'en  we  find  how  hard  eet  seem 

For  feex,  he  tal  us:  ^'Wal, 
I  theenk  ees  best  you  calla  heem 

'  Giuseppe '  for  mysaP ! " 
Dees  mak'  da  case  so  bothersom', 

My  brain  ees  eena  whirl; 
I  almost  weesh  w'en  keed  ees  com' 

He  gona  be  a  girl. 
Eh?    No,  he  was  no  borna  w'en 

We  fighta  deesa  way. 
No  baby  eesa  leevin'  den, 

But  see!  ees  com'  to-day 
Not  only  wan  of  heem,  but  three! 

Eh?    "Treeplets?"    Yes,  Signor. 
Ah!  soocha  lucky  man  like  me 

You  nevva  see  bayfore! 


CARMINA  49 

THE    LABORER    AND    HIS 
HIRE 

HALLO !  Signor,  I  ain't  see  you 
For  manny,  manny  day. 
I  wondra  moocha  w'at  you  do 

All  time  you  was  away, 
All  deesa  seexa  mont'  or  more 

Dat  you  are  gon'  from  home. 
I  s'pose  you  went  out  Wes',  Signor  — 

Eh  ?    No  ?    You  was  een  Rome  ? 
An'  Pareess,  too?    Wal,  wal,  my  frand, 

W'at  joy  you  musta  feel 
To  see  all  dose  so  granda  land 

Where  you  have  been.    But  steell 
You  musta  worka  longa  while 

For  save  da  mon'  to  go. 
Eh?    Deal  een  stocks  ees  mak'  your  pile? 

Escuse!    I  deed  not  know. 
I  weesh  dat  dere  was  soocha  treep 

For  Dagoman  like  me; 
Ees  manny  now  dat  taka  sheep 


so  CARMINA 

For  home  een  Eetaly  — 
Eh?  w'at  ees  dat?    You  say  dees  men 

Are  mean  as  dirt  een  street 
For  com'  an'  maka  mon'  an'  den 

To  run  back  home  weeth  eet? 
I  am  su'prise  weeth  you,  Signor, 

For  hear  you  talk  like  dees. 
Da  mon'  we  gat  by  workin'  for 

We  do  weeth  as  we  pleass. 
You  say  dey  leave  no  theeng  bayhind 

For  deesa  mon'  dey  mak' ; 
Eiscuse,  Signor,  but  you  weell  find 

Dey  pay  for  all  dey  tak'. 
Dey  pay  for  eet  weeth  harda  toil, 

Weeth  gooda  road  an'  street, 
Weeth  crops  dat  spreenga  from  da  soil 

An'  geeve  you  food  for  eat, 
Weeth  wheat  dat  mak'  your  bread  so  good, 

Weeth  grape  dat  mak'  your  wines. 
An',  yes,  dey  pay  eet  weeth  deir  blood 

On  railroads,  een  da  mines! 
W'at  deed  you  geeve  for  w'at  you  mak* 

Een  deesa  stocka  deal  ? 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  51 

Not  wan  good  theeng  for  all  you  tak', 

Not  wan,  Signor!    But  steell 
You  say  dees  men  no  gotta  right 

To  do  da  theeng  dey  do. 

Escusa  me  for  gat  excite'. 

I  would  shak'  hands  weeth  you. 
Ees  Creesmas'-time,  so  let  us  be 

Good  'Mericana  men. 
Shak'  hands!    Eet  ees  a  joy  to  me 

For  see  you  home  agen. 


52  CARMINA 


BETWEEN   TWO    LOVES 

I  GOTTA  love  for  Angela, 
I  love  Carlotta,  too. 
I  no  can  marry  both  o'  dem, 
So  w'at  I  gona  do? 

Oh,  Angela  ees  pretta  girl, 
She  gotta  hair  so  black,  so  curl, 
An'  teeth  so  white  as  anytheeng. 
An'  oh,  she  gotta  voice  to  seeng, 
Dat  mak'  your  hearta  feel  eet  must 
Jomp  up  an'  dance  or  eet  weell  bust. 
An'  alia  time  she  seeng,  her  eyes 
Dey  smila  like  Italia's  skies. 
An'  makin'  flirtin'  looks  at  you  — 
But  dat  ees  all  w'at  she  can  do. 

Carlotta  ees  no  gotta  song, 

But  she  ees  twice  so  big  an'  strong 

As  Angela,  an'  she  no  look 

So  beautiful  —  but  she  can  cook. 


CARMINA  S3 

You  oughta  see  her  carry  wood! 
I  tal  you  w'at,  eet  do  you  good. 
Wen  she  ees  be  somebody's  wife 
She  worka  hard,  you  bat  my  Hfe! 
She  nevva  gattyi'  tired,  too  — 
But  dat  ees  all  w'at  she  can  do. 

Oh,  my!  I  weesh  dat  Angela 

Was  strong  for  carry  wood, 
Or  else  Carlotta  gotta  song  * 

An'  looka  pretta  good. 
I  gotta  love  for  Angela, 

I  love  Carlotta,  too. 
I  no  can  marry  both  o'  dem, 

So  w'at  I  gona  do? 


54  CARMINA 


THE   APRIL   WIND 

EH?      Wat?      You     theenk     I     looka 
change'  ? 
Ah!  so  I  am,  an'  eet  ees  strange. 
My  frand,  you  evva  hear  me  growl 
For  dat  da  Northa  weend  ees  howl 

An'  sweep  Broadway  weeth  snow? 
Ah!  no.    Baycause  I  am  so  tough 
An'  hard,  dough  weenter  storms  was  rough, 
Dey  no  could  mak'  me  colda  'nough. 

How  mooch  dey  steeng  an'  blow. 

Yet  here  am  I,  dat  was  so  strong 
For  laugh  at  weends  all  weenter  long, 
Now  lika  babe,  too  soft  an'  weak 
To  fight  wan  leetla  weend  dat  sneak 

Aroun'  dees  place  to-day. 
No  'Mericana  weend  ees  blow 
Like  dees  bayfore.    Eet  com'  an'  go 
An'  catch  at  me  an'  teass  me  so 

Eet  steal  my  heart  away. 


CARMINA  55 

Eet  sneaka  from  dat  leetla  street  — 
Ha!  dat's  eet  now!    You  feelin'  eet? 
Tak'  off  your  hat  an'  lat  eet  play 
All  through  your  hair  —  so !  deesa  way  — 

Ah!  now  ees  gon'!    Dat's  all. 
Eh?    Wat?    "Jus'  breeza  from  da  sea?'* 
Ah!  no,  ees  more  dan  dat  to  me; 
Eet  eesa  voice  from  Eetaly 

Dat  call,  an'  call,  an'  call! 


56  CARMINA 


THREE   TO    ONE 

SIGNOR,  remember  yestaday, 
How  mad  I  am  baycause  you  say 
Dat  nearly  all  Eetalian 
Ees  good-for-nothing,  lazy  man? 
Ah!  lees'en,  pleass,  an'  you  weell  be 
Ashame'  for  w'at  you  say  to  me. 
Wen  I  have  tal  you  w'at  I  see. 
Eef  you  no  theenk  I  speaka  true 
I  got  som'  weetness  here  for  you; 
Here  ees  not  only  wan  but  three: 

Antonio, 

Gregorio 

An'  me. 

I  speak  for  all  an'  tal  of  eet; 
To-day  ees  com'  een  deesa  street 
Beeg  stronga  man  for  deeg  da  tranch. 
You  theenk  ees  mebbe  Dootch  or  Franch, 
Dees  granda,  bigga,  stronga  man? 
Ah!  no,  eet  ees  Eetalian! 


CARMINA  57 

He  no  can  speaka  'Merican, 

But,  oh!  da  way  he  drive  da  peeck 

An'  sweeng  da  spade,  so  strong,  so  queeck, 

Ees  mak'  us  proud  as  we  can  be  — 

Antonio, 

Gregorio 

An'  me. 

You  theenk  ees  lazy  man  dat  weell 
So  work,  from  earla  morn'  onteell 
Da  stars  ees  shina  from  da  sky. 
He  pile  seex  hondra  spadeful  high 
Bayside  da  tranch  w'en  he  ees  through  — 
Eh?  how  I  know  dat  dees  ees  true? 
Ha!  now  is  where  I  catcha  you! 
All  day,  right  here  een  deesa  street, 
We  seet  an'  watch  heem  doin'  eet! 
Wan  weetness?    No!  here  eesa  three: 

Antonio, 

Gregorio 

An'  me. 


58  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


THE   ITALIAN   MOON 

YOUR  ^'honey-moon"?    Wat   ees  eet? 
Eh? 
Eet  ees  da  "moon  of  love"  you  say? 
Wal,  mebbe  so,  Signor,  but  oh, 
You  don'ta  know,  you  don'ta  know! 
You  could  not  know  onteell  you  see 
Da  moon  dat  shine  een  Eetaly. 
Here  eesa  moon,  but  eet  ees  cold; 
Eetalian  moon  ees  ball  of  gold! 
So  warm,  so  sof,  you  wondra  why 
Eet  steeck  together  een  da  sky; 
You  theenk  eet  gona  malt  an'  run 
Like  lumpa  butter  een  da  sun. 
So,  too,  eets  —  w'at  you  call ?  —  eets  ''beam" 
Dat  streama  down  on  you,  dey  seem 
So  theeck,  so  reecha,  lika  cream. 
An'  you  can  feel  dem  on  your  tongue 
Wen  you  are  seeng  your  lova  song, 
An'  warm  an'  sweet  you  feel  dem  slide 
Right  down  your  throat,  onteell  eenside 


CARMINA  59 

Your  heart  dey  rest,  an'  eet  ees  hold 
No  longer  blood,  but  justa  gold! 
You  cannot  know  of  love  onteell 
Sooch  moonlight  een  your  heart  you  feel. 
Wat  for  you  smile?    Eet  eesa  true! 
For  so,  w'en  I  am  young  like  you. 
Wan  night  weeth  Rosa  by  da  shore 
Of  Napoli  I  felt,  Signor. 
You  say  dees  moon  dat  shine  to-night 
Ees  gooda  'nough  for  you  ?    All  right. 
I  s'pose  dat  you  are  love  your  wife, 
But  oh,  Signor,  you  bat  my  life. 
You  eat  her  up  eef  you  could  be 
Where  shines  da  moon  een  Eetaly. 


6o  CARMINA 


HIS    INTERESTED    FRIEND 

ESCUSE  me  dat  I  don'ta  mak' 
You  walcom'  here,  Signer. 
You  see,  I  'fraid  for  mak'  meestak'; 

I  gotta  stung  bayfore. 
Ees  notta  many  'Merican  — 

Oh,  vera,  vera  few  — 
Dat  com'  to  dees  peanutta-stan' 

An'  say  '^ Hallo!"  like  you. 
You  speak  so  fine,  you  know  so  mooch, 

Ees  hard  for  me  to  see 
Wat  for  you  want  be  frand  weeth  sooch 

A  dumba  man  like  me. 
Las'  week  grand  man  like  you  ees  com' 
An'  maka  frandly  so. 
I  am  so  proud  —  but  oh,  so  dumb  — 

I  tal  heem  all  I  know. 
He  ees  so  eenterest  een  me 

An'  speak  so  kind,  so  sweet, 
I  am  so  proud  as  I  can  be 

An'  brag  a  leetla  beet. 


CARMINA  6i 

I  tal  how  mooch  I  mak'  a  day 

An'  w'at  I  savin',  too, 
An'  weeth  my  bigga  mout'  I  say 

More  theengs  dan  w'at  ees  true. 
Now,  who  you  s'pose  ees  dees  unknown. 

Good,  kinda  frand  to  me? 
Ees  presidant  for  bank  dat  own 

All  deesa  property! 
To-day  dees  kinda  man  he  sent 

To  me  hees  agent  man. 
To  say  I  gotta  pay  more  rent 

For  dees  peanutta-stan'. 

Baycause  I  mak'  so  beeg  meestak* 

An'  gotta  stung  bayfore, 
Escuse  me  eef  I  don'ta  mak' 

Mooch  talk  weeth  you,  Signor. 


62  CARMINA 


PADRE    DOMINEEC 

PADRE  Domineec  McCann 
He  ees  great  beeg  Irish  man. 
He  ees  growla  w'en  he  speak. 
Like  he  gona  go  for  you 
Jus'  for  busta  you  in  two. 

My!  he  talk  so  rough,  so  queeck, 
You  weell  weesha  you  could  be 
Som'where  elsa  w'en  you  see 
Padre  Domineec. 

Padre  Domineec  McCann 
Stop  at  dees  peanutta-stan' 

W'en  my  leetla  boy  ees  seeck; 
Talk  so  rough  he  mak'  me  cry, 
Say  ees  besta  boy  should  die 

So  he  go  to  Heaven  queeck! 
He  ees  speak  so  cold  to  me 
Nevva  more  I  wanta  see 

Padre  Domineec. 


CARMINA  63 

Den  gran'  doctor  com'.    Ees  queer! 
Wen  I  ask  who  sand  heem  here, 

He  jus'  smile  an'  weell  no  speak 
Only  justa  for  to  say: 
"You  no  gotta  cent  to  pay, 

I  gon'  feex  dees  boy  dat's  seeck." 
******* 

0  beeg-hearta  man,  an'  true! 

1  am  gattin'  on  to  you, 
Padre  Domineec! 


64  CARMINA 


EEN   NAPOLI 

HERE  een  Noo  Yorka,  where  am  I 
Seence  I  am  landa  las'  July, 
All  gray  an'  ogly  ees  da  sky, 

An'  cold  as  eet  can  be. 
But  steell  so  long  I  maka  mon', 
So  long  ees  worka  to  be  done, 
I  can  forgat  how  shines  da  sun 
Een  Napoli. 

But  oh,  w'en  pass  da  boy  dat  sal 
Da  violets,  an'  I  can  smal 
How  sweet  dey  are,  I  no  can  tal 

How  seeck  my  heart  ees  be. 
I  no  can  work,  how  mooch  I  try, 
But  only  seet  an'  wondra  why 
I  could  not  justa  leeve  an'  die 

Een  Napoli. 


CARMINA  6s 


GIUSEPPE   TO   HIS   DOG 

HI!  Carlo,  jompa  down  from  dere, 
You  lazy  dog!    Com',  see. 
Dees  jontleman  would  have  dat  chair 

For  seet  an'  talk  weeth  me. 
Eh?  w'at!  you  gona  growl  an'  bite? 

Aha!  I  show  you  den  — 
Don't  go,  Signor.    Wal,  alia  right; 
I  hope  you  com'  agen. 
******* 

Ha!  Carlo,  w'at  you  theenka  dat? 

You  drive  da  man  away, 
You  lazy,  ogly  lumpa  fat. 

You  good-for-nothing!    Eh? 
Seence  time  w'en  I  was  kind  to  you 

An'  peeck  you  from  da  street 
Ees  not  wan  leetla  theeng  you  do 

For  earn  da  food  you  eat. 
Eef  you  would  even  chase  da  rat 

You  might  be  worth  to  keep. 
But,  no,  you  are  so  dumb,  so  fat, 


66  CARMINA 

You  jus'  can  eat  an'  sleep. 
How  dare  you  do  sooch  ogly  treeck 

An'  growla  so  like  dat  ? 
Jus'  wait  onteell  I  gat  my  steeck  — 

Now,  see  w'at  you  weell  gat! 
Eh?    Don'ta  roll  your  eyes  at  me; 

Keep  steell  your  taila,  too, 
No  leeck  my  handa!    Don't  you  see 

Dat  I  am  cross  weeth  you  ? 
Ha!    Stop!    You  theenk  dees  mak'  me  feel 

You  love  me  like  you  should  ? 
Not  mootch!     Jus'  keep  dat  taila  steell 
An'  I  weell  beat  you  good. 
You  theenk  baycause  I  gat  so  few 

Da  frauds  dat  lova  me, 
I  am  afraid  for  whippin'  you  ? 

Jus'  close  your  eyes  an'  see! 
Aha!  so  now  you  run  away. 

O!  wal,  dees  steeck  weell  keep; 
I  gona  beat  you  good  som'  day  — 

Som'  day  w'en  you  are  'sleep. 


CARMINA  67 


THE   HARBINGER 

EES  com'  da  spreeng!"  da  peopla  say, 
^^An'  weenter-time  ees  gon'  away." 
I  hope  ees  true,  baycause,  you  know, 
I  am  so  seeck  weeth  ice  an'  snow; 
I  am  so  seeck  eenside  my  soul 
For  gotta  buy  so  moocha  coal. 
An'  overcoat,  an'  warma  clo'es, 
An'  hankacheef  for  blow  my  nose. 

^'Ees  com'  da  spreeng!"  da  peopla  say. 
An'  so  I  am  com'  out  to-day 
For  justa  see  eef  eet  ees  true. 
An'  play  da  musica  for  you. 
Da  weend  ees  colda  'nough  for  mak' 
Me  wanta  stop  an'  gona  back. 
But  som'theeng  w'eesper  een  my  ear: 
"Ees   com'   da   spreeng!    Da   spreeng   ees 
here!" 


68  CARMINA 

"Ees  com'  da  spreeng!"  da  peopla  say 
Dat  passa  by  an'  hear  me  play 
^^ Lucia"  on  my  street-pian'. 
"O!  see  da  Dago  music-man!" 
Dey  say:  ''dat's  mean  da  weenter's  past 
An'  spreeng  ees  gattin'  here  at  last." 
I  nevva  hear  sooch  funny  theeng; 
Dey  taka  me  for  sign  of  spreeng! 


CARMINA        69 


AN  AFTER-DINNER 
THOUGHT 

OH!  my,  Signer,  how  seeck  I  feel 
From  som'theeng  I  have  ate; 
I  had  wan  oyster  een  my  meal 

Dat  wassa  catch'  too  late! 
Oh!  my,  dat  soocha  leetla  theeng 

Could  mak'  so  bigga  change! 
Dees  morna  I  could  dance  an'  seeng, 

But  now  I  feel  so  strange, 
I  no  can  'tand  to  beezaness, 

But  seeta  theenkin'  here; 
An'  w'at  I  theenk  you  nevva  guess  — 

Eet  ees  so  vera  queer. 
I  theenk  upon  dat  greata  man 

Dat  ees  da  first  to  com' 
For  findin'  deesa  granda  Ian'  — 

Creestoforo  Colomb'. 
Ees  Dagoman  like  me,  you  know  — 

Eh?    Yes,  but  wait,  Signor; 
I  tal  you  som'theeng,  mebbe  so, 


70  CARMINA 

You  newa  hear  bayfore. 
I  theenk  upon  Colombo  w'en 

He  beg  hees  Queen  dat  she 
Would  justa  geeve  heem  sheeps  an'  men 

For  help  heem  cross  da  sea; 
But  could  no  gat  da  theengs  he  need, 

How  mooch  he  coax  an'  beg, 
Onteell  she  see  da  theeng  he  deed 

Weeth  justa  leetla  egg. 
Aha!  my  fraud,  so  you  have  read 

An'  know  da  story,  too  ? 
He  Stan'  dat  egg  upon  eets  head, 

Like  no  wan  else  could  do! 
An'  so  da  Queen  she  clap  her  ban's 

An'  tal  Colombo  den: 
"Now  you  can  go  for  find  dose  lan's; 

I  geeve  you  sheeps  an'  men." 
You  know  w'at  happen  after  dat, 

Ees  notheeng  more  to  say; 
But  here  ees  queera  thought  I  gat 

Eenside  my  head  to-day! 
Su'pose  —  I  ask  you  now  —  su'pose 

Dat  egg  he  bust  was  bad! 


CARMINA  71 

You  theenk  da  Queen  would  hold  her  nose 

An'  smila  just  as  glad  ? 
You  theenk  she  gona  tal  Colomb' 

She  geeve  heem  sheeps  an'  sooch 
An'  evratheeng  he  need  to  com'  ? 

You  bat  my  life,  not  mooch! 
I  tal  you  eef  dat  egg  was  bad 

As  deesa  taste  I  gat, 
Colombo,  mebbe,  woulda  had 

Sooch  troubla  after  dat 
Dees  Ian'  where  now  we  are  so  glad 

Would  no  be  founda  yat! 


72  CARMINA 


YEARNING 

IEEN  love  weeth  Mag  McCue. 
Ah!  so  sweeta  'Merican! 
Evra  day  I  see  her,  too, 
Pass  by  dees  peanutta-stan'. 
Once  ees  tal  me  smarta  man: 
"Eef  a  girl  ees  smile  at  you, 

Wavin'  deesa  way  her  han', 
Dat'sa  mean  she  love  you  true." 

Oh,  my  leetla  lady  dear, 
Lasta  time  you  passa  here 

An'  you  smile  upon  me  so, 
Eet  ees  mak'  me  feel  so  queer. 

Why  ees  dat,  I  lika  know? 

I  een  love  weeth  Mag  McCue. 

Ah!  so  sweeta  'Merican! 
I  could  know  w'at  I  would  do 

Eef  she  was  Eetalian. 

But  ees  hard  to  ondrastan' 


CARMINA  73 

Eef  she  really  love  me  true 

Wen  she  smile  an'  wave  her  han' 
Lika  lasta  night  she  do. 

Oh,  my  leetla  lady  dear, 
Nexta  time  you  passa  here 

Would  you  mak'  me  glad  an'  proud? 
Don'ta  wave  your  han'  so  queer, 
Pleassa,  don'ta  smile  so  loud. 


74  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


GIAC   FINELLI 

W'EN  Giac  Finelli  maka  joke 
I  laugha  teell  my  sides  ees  broke. 
I  weesh  som'time  dat  you  could  be 
Jus'  near  enough  to  heem  to  see  — 
You  don'ta  gotta  be  so  near 
For  dat  you  musta  seet  an'  hear  — 
Eet  ees  not  dat  you  gotta  pay 
Mooch  notice  to  da  words  he  say, 
Baycause  een  sooch  artista  way 
He  tweest  hees  face  an'  move  da  han' 
All  theengs  ees  plain  to  ondrastan', 
He  ees  so  smarta  Dagoman. 
Oh!  my,  your  sides  dey  would  be  broke 
Wen  Giac  Finelli  maka  joke. 

Two  men  dat  play  at  cards  wan  night 

Ees  got  so  mad  an'  so  excite' 

Dey  pull  their  knives  an'  gona  fight. 

Up  jompa  Giac  Finelli  den 

An'  eemitate  dose  fightin'  men. 


CARMINA  75 

He  growl  an'  stampa  'roun'  da  place 
An'  mak'  sooch  tweestin'  of  da  face, 
Now  justa  lika  deesa  man 
An'  now  so  like  da  othra  wan, 
He  mak'  dem  look  sooch  foolish  sight 
Dey  laugh  an'  jus'  forgat  to  fight. 
Oh!  my,  eef  dat  time  you  could  be 
Jus'  near  enough  to  heem  to  see. 
You  laugha  teell  your  sides  ees  broke 
Wen  Giac  Finelli  maka  joke. 


76*  CARMINA 


FROM   A   CAR   WINDOW 

AH!  yes,  I  been  away  to-day; 
You  no  could  guess  how  far  away. 
I  s'pose  you  laugh  eef  I  should  say 
How  mooch  delight  I  had  for  be 
Wan  leetla  while  een  Eetaly  — 
Ah!  yes,  I  see  you  laugh  at  me. 
W'at  use  for  tal  you  more,  my  frand? 
You  justa  no  could  ondrastand. 

No,  w'at'sa  use,  my  frand ?    Eh?    Wal, 

Eet  ees  not  mooch  dat  I  can  tal. 

I  go  to-day  for  ride  een  train. 

An'  now  here  am  I  back  again! 

Eh?    How  I  gat  to  Eetaly? 

Eef  you  had  been  een  train  weeth  me 

Here  eesa  theeng  dat  you  would  see, 

Eef  queeck  an'  sharpa  weeth  your  eye 

You  catch  eet  while  da  train  go  by: 

A  whita  house,  a  beet  of  land 


CARMINA  77 

Where  piles  of  ripa  corn  ees  stand, 

An'  een  baytween  weeth  leaves  so  green 

Ees  shine  da  softa  golda  skeen 

Of  —  how-you-call  ?  —  da  "pumpakeen." 

Here  on  wan  side  by  fence  where  twine 

Da  purpla  grape  so  fat  weeth  wine, 

Ees  Stan'  da  man  dat  keep  da  place, 

You  see  how  brown  hees  han's  an'  face, 

How  brown  weeth  sun  da  hat  he  wear 

On  top  hees  curia  blacka  hair, 

How  brown  weeth  dusta  from  da  eart' 

Hees  blacka  pants,  hees  pinka  shirt? 

An'  dat  mus'  be  hees  wife  dat  stoop 

For  feeda  cheeckens  eena  coop. 

You  ewa  see  more  brighta  red 

Dan  hankacheef  dat's  on  her  head? 

Oh,  look  da  sky!    I  ask  you,  too. 

You  ewa  see  so  granda  blue? 

You  ewa  see  sooch  sun  dat  roll 

So  like  shiny  brassa  bowl 

Een  bottom  side  of  sky  an'  speell 

Eets  gold  eensides  against  da  heell? 

Look!  here  ees  com'  along  da  road 


78  CARMINA 

Som'  boys  an'  girls  weeth  wagonload 
Dat  dey  have  gathra  from  de  fieP. 
Oh,  happy,  happy  girls  an'  boys! 
Eef  train  no  mak'  so  moocha  noise 
You  woulda  hear  da  sweeta  song 
Dey  singin'  while  dey  marcha  'long. 

*  5|e  *  *  3jc  :|c 

But  even  so,  w'en  all  so  dear 

You  can  no  longer  see  an'  hear, 

W'en  queeck  ees  pass  da  flyin'  train 

An'  all  ees  'Merican  again. 

You  steell  can  feel  da  song  dey  seeng. 

So  lika  leetla  leevin'  theeng, 

Dat  move  around  eenside  your  breast 

An'  justa  weell  no  lat  you  rest  — 

Eh  ?    Wat  ees  dat  ?    You  don'ta  see 
How  I  have  been  een  Eetaly? 
Ah!  wal,  deed  I  no  say,  my  frand, 
You  justa  no  could  ondrastand  ? 


CARMINA  79 


DA   LEETLA   BOY 

DA  spreeng  ees  com' ;  but  oh,  da  joy 
Eet  ees  too  late! 
He  was  so  cold,  my  leetla  boy, 
He  no  could  wait. 

I  no  can  count  how  manny  week, 
How  manny  day,  dat  he  ees  seeck; 
How  manny  night  I  seet  an'  hold 
Da  leetla  hand  dat  was  so  cold. 
He  was  so  patience,  oh,  so  sweet! 
Eet  hurts  my  throat  for  theenk  of  eet; 
An'  all  he  evra  ask  ees  w'en 
Ees  gona  com'  da  spreeng  agen. 
Wan  day,  wan  brighta  sunny  day, 
He  see,  across  da  alleyway. 
Da  leetla  girl  dat's  livin'  dere 
Ees  raise  her  window  for  da  air, 
An'  put  outside  a  leetla  pot 
Of  —  w'at-you-call  ?  —  forgat-me-not. 
So  smalla  flower,  so  leetla  theeng! 


8o  CARMINA 

But  steell  eet  mak'  hees  hearta  seeng: 

*'0h,  now,  at  las',  ees  com'  da  spreeng! 

Da  leetla  plant  ees  glad  for  know 

Da  sun  ees  com'  for  mak'  eet  grow. 

So,  too,  I  am  grow  warm  and  strong." 

So  lika  dat  he  seeng  hees  song. 

But,  ah!  da  night  com'  down  an'  den 

Da  weenter  ees  sneak  back  agen, 

An'  een  da  alley  all  da  night 

Ees  fall  da  snow,  so  cold,  so  white, 

An'  cover  up  da  leetla  pot 

Of  —  w'at-you-call  ?  —  forgat-me-not. 

All  night  da  leetla  hand  I  hold 

Ees  grow  so  cold,  so  cold,  so  cold! 

Da  spreeng  ees  com' ;  but  oh,  da  joy 

Eet  ees  too  late! 
He  was  so  cold,  my  leetla  boy. 

He  no  could  wait. 


H  I  B  E  R  N  I  C  E 


THE  MELTIN'O'THE  SNOW 

"'npIS  cold  th'-day,"  said  John  McCann, 

A       Upon  the  road  to  Mass. 
The  sorra  word  said  Mary  Ann, 

But  stopped  to  let  him  pass; 
Fur,  shure,  he  was  the  bold  young  man 

An'  she  the  modest  lass. 

'Twas  not  himself  that  would  be  balked 

So  aisily,  an'  so 
He  timed  his  steps  wid  hers  an'  walked 

Beside  her,  through  the  snow. 
But,  oh,  she  passed  upon  her  way, 

So  modest  an'  so  prim, 
'Twas  little  he  could  think  to  say, 

An'  less  she  said  to  him. 
But  this  he  said  when  they  were  nigh 

The  little  chapel  door: 
"A  colder  land,  a  colder  sky, 

I  have  not  seen  before, 

83 


84  CARMINA 

Than  this,  for  all  its  store  of  gold, 

For  all  it  is  so  grand. 
I  never  knew  the  feel  o'  cold 

At  home,  in  Ireland; 
But  here,  in  these  forsaken  parts, 

The  snows,  the  bitter  storm. 
Creep  even  into  Irish  hearts 

That  should  be  kind  and  warm. 
Oh,  kind  the  maidens,  Mary  Ann, 

Who  tread  the  Irish  grass. 
This  blessid  day!''  said  John  McCann, 

Upon  the  road  to  Mass. 

Small  heed  is  where  the  heart  is  not, 

An'  so,  'tis  safe  to  say, 
'Twas  little  that  the  pastor  got 

From  Mary  Ann  that  day; 
No  ears  had  she  fur  anny  word 

But  jisht  that  bold  young  man's. 
An',  faix,  the  only  thing  she  heard 

Was  when  he  read  the  banns  • 
For  two  true  hearts  that  soon  would  be 

In  happy  wedlock  one. 


CARMINA  8s 

Then  out  she  passed  an'  home  went  she 

Beneath  the  winter  sun, 
An'  knew  before  she  turned  her  head 

Who  was  it  walked  beside. 
'^Ye  heard  the  banns?    Ah!  well,"  he  said, 

^^  There's  one  has  found  a  bride, 
Thank  God!  one  Irish  heart  is  sweet, 

Though  all  the  one  I  know 
That  makes  my  own  lone  heart  to  beat 

Is  cold  an'  hard  as  snow." 
"But  now  'tis  softer,  John  McCann"  — 

Ochone!  the  modest  lass!  — 
"The  snow,  I  mean,"  blushed  Mary  Ann, 

Upon  the  road  from  Mass. 

Oh,  bells  were  on  the  breeze  that  ran 

Along  the  buddin'  grass. 
An'  Spring,  on  tip-toe,  waved  her  han* 

Th'-day  to  see  them  pass. 
When  John  an'  Mary  Ann  McCann 

Came  down  the  road  from  Mass. 


86  CARMINA 


THE     IRISH     NATIONAL 
BIRD 

GOOD   luck    to   the   Eagle,   America's 
bird, 
That  stands  for  the  land  o'  the  free! 
Faix,  I'm  not  the  wan  to  be  sayin'  a  word 

That'd  rufHe  its  feathers.    Not  me! 
I'm  proud  o'  the  bird  as  I'm  proud  o'  the 
land. 
An'  glad  to  be  under  its  wing, 
But  there  is  another  bird  aiqually  grand 

Whose  praises  I'm  wishful  to  sing. 
Now  let  ye  not  pucker  yer  face  wid  a  smile, 

'Tis  soberest  truth  that  we've  got 
A  national  bird  in  the  Emerald  Isle 
That's  aisily  king  o'  the  lot! 

Aye!  "national  bird."    He  is  certainly  that. 
Though  others  may  claim  him  at  times, 
He's  busiest  most  wid  the  fortunes  of  Pat 
At  home,  an'  in  far-away  climes. 


CARMINA  87 

An',  faix,  'tis  the  Irish  that  love  him  the  best 

An'  welcome  his  favors  the  most; 
The  man's  not  true  Irish  that  has  him  for 
guest 

Widout  feelin'  proud  to  be  host. 
He  seeks  out  the  Irish  regardless  of  place  — 

At  home  or  abroad  in  New  York  — 
So  here's  to  the  National  Bird  of  the  Race! 

Here's  "hip,  hip,  hurrah!"  for  the  stork! 


88  CARMINA 


THE   IRISH   BIRD-CHARMER 

WID  more  or  less  o'  tuneful  grace, 
As  fits  a  Celtic  singer, 
I've  praised  the  ''great  bird  of  our  race," 

The  stork,  the  blessin'-bringer. 
When  first  to  my  poor  roof  he  came, 

How  sweetly  he  was  sung  to! 
I  called  him  every  dacint  name 

That  I  could  lay  my  tongue  to. 
But  glory  be!  that  praise  from  me 

So  pleased  the  simple  crayture 
His  visits  here  have  come  to  be 

A  sort  o'  second  nature. 
I'm  glad  to  see  him  now  an'  then, 

But,  glory  be  to  Heaven! 
If  here  he  isn't  back  again. 

An'  this  is  number  seven! 

Och!  though  this  gift  o'  song  may  be 

In  manny  ways  a  blessin', 
It  brings  some  popularity 


CARMINA  89 

That  gets  to  be  disthressin'. 
Now,  mind,  I  love  this  Irish  bird  — 

We  couldn't  live  widout  him  — 
An',  shure,  I'll  not  take  back  a  word 

I  ever  said  about  him. 
But  now  when  all  these  mouths  to  feed 

Ate  up  our  little  savin's. 
The  birds  whose  visits  most  we  need 

Are  ould  Elijah's  ravens. 
Begor' !  if  they  were  'round  these  days 

An'  I  could  make  them  hear  me, 
I'd  sing  them  such  a  song  o'  praise 

'Twould  keep  them  always  near  me. 


90  CARMINA 


CORDAYLIA  O'   THE  ALLEY 

AT  the  corner  o'  the  alley 
Sits  Cordaylia  McNally, 
At  the  corner  o'  the  alley  where  the  people 
come  an'  go, 
In  a  penitent  procession, 
Passin'  to  an'  from  confession 
In  the  ould  Church  of  St.  Joseph  that  was 
builded  long  ago. 
Oh,  'tis  well  she  knows  there's  many 
Has  the  charitable  penny 
More  convaynient  to  their  fingers  then  than 
any  other  day, 
An'  her  tongue  it  is  so  sooth'rin' 
An'  so  mastherful  deludth'rin' 
There  are  mortial  few  whatever  she'll  be 
lettin'  get  away. 

For,  oh,  the  Irish  eyes  of  her 

They  twinkle  at  ye  so. 
Ye  hate  to  think  the  sighs  of  her 


CARMINA  91 

Are  part  o'  the  disguise  of  her, 
So,  faix,  she  has  yer  penny  gathered  in 
before  ye  know. 

There's  small  use  in  walkin'  fasther 
In  the  hope  o'  sneakin'  past  her, 
Shure,  she'll  let  ye  go,  unnoticed,  wid  yer 
little  load  o'  sin. 
But,  O !  man,  she  has  ye  spotted, 
An'  yer  penny  good  as  potted. 
Fur  she  knows  that  ye'U  be  softer  comin' 
out  than  goin'  in! 
Fur  there's  nothin'  but  good  nature 
In  the  m'anest  Irish  crayture 
Whin  he  feels  the   soul  inside  o'   him  is 
cleansed  of  iv'ry  blot. 
Should  Cordaylia  then  address  ye 
Wid  her  sootherin'  ^'God  bless  ye!" 
'Tis  not  you  will  dare  to  judge  if  she's  de* 
servin'  it  or  not. 

For,  oh,  the  Irish  eyes  of  her 
They  twinkle  at  ye  so. 


92  CARMINA 

Ye  hate  to  think  the  sighs  of  her 
Are  part  o'  the  disguise  of  her, 

So,  faix,  she  has  yer  penny  gathered  in 
before  ye  know. 


CARMINA  93 


HEARTLESS    SHEILA    SHEA 

SHURE,  the  parish  is  so  quiet, 
Sheila  Shea, 
All  the  folks  are  saddened  by  it 

In  a  way. 
An'  the  whole  o'  thim  are  waitin' 
Fur  the  joy  o'  celebratin' 

Somethin'  lively;  like  a  weddin',  let  us  say. 
Shure,  ye  know  it  is  the  duty 
Of  a  girl  that's  blessed  wid  beauty 
To  be  careful  not  to  let  it  waste  away. 

D'ye  hear  me,  Sheila  Shea? 
Shure,  how  can  ye  be  so  gay, 
Wid  such  quiet  all  about  ye,  that  ye  sing 
the  livelong  day? 

Has  no  sense  o'  sorrow  found  ye, 

Sheila  Shea? 
Faix,  the  world  revolves  around  ye. 

An'  it's  gray. 


94  CARMINA 

Still,  the  spell  will  soon  be  broken, 
Fur,  although  ye  have  not  spoken 
Sorra  word  o'  what  I've  begged  of  ye  to 
say,    >  /"• 
If  ye  will  not  grace  a  weddin', 
'Tis  meseP  will  soon  be  dead,  an' 
There's  some  comfort  in  a  funeral,  anny- 
way. 

D'ye  hear  me.  Sheila  Shea? 
Shure,  how  can  ye  be  so  gay, 
Wid  my  breakin'  heart  so  near  ye  that  ye 
sing  the  livelong  day? 


CARMINA        95 


THE  SONG  OF  THE 
THRUSH 

AH!  the  May  was  grand  this  mornin'! 
Shure,  how  could  I  feel  forlorn  in 
Such  a  land,  when  tree  and  flower  tossed 
their  kisses  to  the  breeze? 
Could  an  Irish  heart  be  quiet 
While  the  Spring  was  runnin'  riot, 
An'  the  birds  of  free  America  were  singin' 
in  the  trees? 
In  the  songs  that  they  were  singin' 
No  familiar  note  was  ringin'. 
But  I  strove  to  imitate  them  an'  I  whistled 
like  a  lad. 
Oh,  my  heart  was  warm  to  love  them 
For  the  very  newness  of  them  — 
For  the  ould  songs  that  they  helped  me  to 
forget  —  an'  I  was  glad. 

So  I  mocked  the  feathered  choir 
To  my  hungry  heart's  desire, 


96  CARMINA 

An'  I  gloried  in  the  comradeship  that  made 
their  joy  my  own, 
Till  a  new  note  sounded,  stillin' 
All  the  rest.    A  thrush  was  trillin' ! 
Ah!  the  thrush  I  left  behind  me  in  the  fields 
about  Athlone! 
Where,  upon  the  whitethorn  swayin', 
He  was  minstrel  of  the  Mayin', 
In  my  days  of  love  an'  laughter  that  the 
years  have  laid  at  rest; 
Here  again  his  notes  were  ringin' ! 
But  I'd  lost  the  heart  for  singin'  — 
Ah!  the  song  I  could  not  answer  was  the 
one  I  knew  the  best. 


CARMINA  97 


THE    OULD    APPLE    WOMAN 

WID  her  basket  of  apples  comes  Nora 
McHugh, 
Wid  her  candies  an^  cakes  an*  wan  thing 
an'  another, 
But  the  best  thing  she  brings  to  commind 
her  to  you 
Is  the  smile  in  her  eyes  that  no  throuble 
can  smother. 
An'  the  wit  that's  at  home  in  the  tip  of  her 
tongue 
Has  a  freshness  unknown  to  her  candy 
and  cake; 
Though  her  wares  had  been  stale  since  ould 
Nora  was  young, 
There  is  little  complaint  you'd  be  carin' 
to  make. 
Well  I  mind,  on  a  day,  I  complained  of  a 
worm 
That  I  found  in  an  apple,  near  bitten  in 
two. 


98  CARMINA 

''But  suppose  ye  had  bit  it,  an'  where'd  be 
the  harm? 
For,  shure,  this  isn't  Friday,"    said   Nora 
McHugh. 

O   Nora    McHugh,   you've    the    blarneyin' 

twist  in  you. 
Where  is  the  anger  could  drame  o'  resistin' 
you? 
Faix,  we'll  be  sp'ilin'  you. 
Blind  to  the  guile  in  you. 
While  there's  a  smile  in  you, 
Nora  McHugh. 

It  was  Mistress  De  Vere,  that's  so  proud  of 
her  name. 
Fell  to  boastin'  wan  day  of  her  kin  in  the 
peerage  — 
Though  there's  some  o'  thim  same,  years 
ago  whin  they  came 
To  this  glorious  land,  was  contint  wid  the 
steerage  — 


CARMINA  99 

An'  she  bragged  of  her  ancistry,  Norman 
an'  Dane, 
An'  the  Kke  furrin  ancients  that's  thought 
to  be  swell. 
^'Now,  I  hope,"  said  ould  Nora,  "ye'U  not 
think  me  vain. 
Fur  it's  little  I  care  fur  ancistry  mesel'; 
But  wid  all  o'  your  pedigree,  ma'am,  I  be- 
lieve 
'Tis  mesel'    can   go   back   a   bit   further 
than  you. 
Fur  in  me  you  perceive  a  descindant  of  Eve, 
The  first  apple  woman,"  said  Nora  Mc- 
Hugh. 

O  Nora  McHugh,  sich  owdacious  frivoKty! 
How  can  you  dare  to  be  jokin'  the  quality? 

Still,  we'll  be  sp'ilin'  you, 

Blind  to  the  guile  in  you, 

While  there's  a  smile  in  you, 
Nora  McHugh. 


loo  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


THE   MOURNER 

OUT  o'  bed  of  a  mornin'  was  Mary 
McCroal 
Before  ever  a  sunbeam  had  cut  its  first 
caper, 
An'  had  fetched  from  her  door-step  her  bit 
of  a  roll 
An'  her  wee  jar  o'  milk  an'  her  mornin' 
newspaper. 
Then,  the  while  she  was  wettin'  her  kittle 
o'  tay. 
She'd  the  paper  forninst  her  ould  specks 
as  she  read 
What  she  held  "the  importantest  news  o' 
the  day"  — 
An'  that  same  was  no  more  nor  the  list  o' 
the  dead. 
She  could   aisily  wait  fur  the  bit  an'  the 
sup. 
But  the  hunger  fur  news  she  could  never 
control, 


C  ARMIN  A,,'  /'^^,^  Tibi^ 

Readin'   wan   colyume  down   an'   the   nixt 
colyume  up, 
Till:  "Here's  wan  at  St.   Ann's,"  cried 
ould  Mary  McCroal, 
"May  the  Lord  rest  his  soul!" 

She'd  make  way  wid  her  tay  in  two  minyutes 
or  less, 
An'  she'd  ready  the  table  an'  lay  the  cloth 
on  it. 
An'   she'd  deck  hersel'  out  in  her  dacint 
black  dress 
An'   her  cashymere  shawl   an'   her  ould 
velvet  bonnet. 
Then  'twas  oflf  at  a  trot  to  the  Church  o' 
St.  Ann  — 
To   be   there   when   the   corpse   an'  the 
mourners  came  in. 
Shure,  what  odds  if  she  never  had  heard 
o'  the  man. 
Nor  had  knowledge  at  all  of  a  wan  of  his  kin  ? 
Faix,   'twas  Httle,  indeed,   that  the  corpse 
needed  care. 


I 


td2  .C  ARM  IN  A 

An'  no  bar  to  his  soul  on  the  way  to  its 
goal, 
If  no  wan  o'  the  mourners  there  bowin'  in 
prayer 
Prayed  as  strong  or  as  long  as  ould  Mary 
McCroal: 
''May  the  Lord  rest  his  soul!" 

Ye  might  canvass  the  parish;  not  wan  on 
the  list  — 
Not  a  wan  —  but  would  tell  ye  he  couldn't 
remember 
Anny  funeral  Mass  that  she  ever  had  missed, 
Under  roses  o'  June  or  in  snows  o'  De- 
cember; 
An'  there's  some  that'd  smile,  recoUectin' 
the  sight 
Of  a  red  flannel  petticoat,  aye!  an*  a  show 
Of  a  dacint  clane  stockin',  ould-fashioned 
an'  white, 
Whiskin'  over  the  graves  in  the  dust  or 
the  snow. 
There  was  some  might  have  said,  wid  a 
shake  o'  the  head. 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  103 

She  was  jisht  an  ould  crow.     But  ye'd 
find,  on  the  whole, 
Not  a  wan  o'  thim  all,  when  they  buried 
their  dead. 
But  was  glad  o'  the  prayers  of  ould  Mary 
McCroal. 
May  the  Lord  rest  her  soul! 

Aye!  "the  Lord  rest  her  soul."    Ah!  the 
church  was  so  bare 
When    she    lay    there    th'-day,    fur    the 
mourners  were  few. 
But,  shure,  why  should  she  care  that  the 
only  wans  there 
Were  the  sexton,  the  priest,  an'  ould  woman 
or  two? 
An'  what  odds  if  the  prayers  at  her  passin' 
were  brief 
As  the  ride  to  the  grave,  when  those  prayers 
had  been  said? 
An'  what  need  was  there  here  fur  the  trap- 
pin's  o'  grief? 
Fur,  shure,  death  was  a  joy  to  this  friend 
o'  the  dead. 


I04  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

Ah!  'tis  well  to  believe  that  the  prayers  that 
she  prayed 
Fur  the  many  before  her  who  shared  of 
her  dole, 
They    have    gathered    together    an'    woven 
an'  made 
As  a  ladder  o'  Ught  fur  ould  Mary  Mc- 
Croal. 
May  the  Lord  rest  her  soul! 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A       los 


OULD  PHELIM  McKEONE 

WAS  there  iver  a  man, 
Since  creation  began, 
Wid  such  lack  of  a  dacint  respect  for  his  own, 
So  conthrary  of  mind, 
Wid  a  tongue  so  unkind, 
As  the  plague  of  our  parish,  ould  Phelim 
McKeone  ? 

We'd  a  meetin'  last  night  fur  "Home  Rule 
an'  the  Right," 
To  discuss  ways  an'  means  an'  to  hit  on 
a  plan 
That'd   make   fur   success  in   the   glorious 
fight, 
An'  to  name  fur  our  leader  the  logical 
man. 
Now,  of  course  we  were   blessed   wid  the 
gift  o'  the  gab, 
An'  we  gave  our  opinions  fur  this  an'  fur 
that. 


io6  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

There  was  orators  there  Kke  O'Kane  an' 
McNab, 
Who  were  wiUin'  to  fight  at  the  drop  o' 
the  hat, 
An'  so  fixed  in  their  notions  that  nayther 
would  give, 
Fur  they'd  have  no  opinion  was  right  but 
their  own. 
Whin  "Hurrah  fur  the  British,  an'  long  may 
they  live!" 
At  the  top  of  his  voice  yelled  ould  Phelim 
McKeone. 

"Aye!  an'  long  may  they  live,"  yelled  ould 

Phelim  McKeone, 
"Fur    if    British    heads    failed    ye    whin 

lookin'  fur  fight, 
Ye'd  have  nothin  to  do  but  be  whackin' 

yer  own. 
An'  whoever    ye   choose  fur   yer    leader 

th'-night, 
Shure,  he  has  me  condoHnce  on  winnin'  the 

place, 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  107 

Fur  there's  little  o'  joy  or  o'  p'ace  that 
he'll  know, 
Wid  the  jealous  designs  o'  the  rest  o'  the 
race, 
Who  the  minute  he's  up  will  be  puUin' 
him  low. 
Aye!  'tis  jealousy's  streak  in  the  red  o'  yer 
blood 
That  has  checked  us  an'  kept  us  from 
knowin'  the  joy 
An'  the  blessin'  of  Ireland  free,  as  we  should. 
Oh!  I've  waited  these  seventy  year,  man 
an'  boy. 
But  I've  waited  in  vain,  to  be  greetin'  the  day 
Whin  the  land  that  I  love  should  come 
into  its  own. 
So  *  Hurrah  fur  the  British  that  scorn  ye!' 
I  say. 
An'  I  bid  ye  good  night!"  cried  ould  Phe- 
lim  McKeone. 

Was  there  iver  a  man, 
Since  creation  began. 


io8  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

Wid  such  lack  of  a  dacint  respect  for  his 
own, 
So  conthrary  of  mind, 
Wid  a  tongue  so  unkind. 
As  the  plague  of  our  parish,  ould  Phelim 
McKeone? 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  109 


THE     IRISH     BACHELOR 

HERE  fur  yer  pity  or  scorn,  I'm  pre- 
sintin'  ye 

Jerry  McGlone. 
Trustin'  the  life  of  him  will  be  previntin'  ye 

Marrin'  yer  own. 
Think  of  a  face  wid  a  permanint  fixture  of 
Looks  that  are  always  suggistin'  a  mixture  of 
Limmons  an'  vinegar.    There!  ye've  a  pic- 
ture of 

Jerry  McGlone. 

Faix,  there  is  nothin'  but  sourest  gloom  in  this 

Jerry  McGlone. 
Chris'mas  joy,  anny  joy,  niver  finds  room  in 
this 

Crayture  of  stone. 
Cynical  gloom  is  the  boast  an'  the  pride  of  him, 
An'  if  a  laugh  iver  did  pierce  the  hide  of  him, 
Faix,  I  believe  'twould  immajiate,  inside  of 
him. 

Change  to  a  groan. 


no  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

Whisht!   now,   an'   listen.    Ill   tell  ye   the 
throuble  wid 

Jerry  McGlone. 
He  preferred  single  life  rather  than  double 
wid 

Molly  Malone. 
Think  of  it!    Think  of  an  Irishman  tarryin' 
While  there's  a  purty  girl  wishful  fur  mar- 

ryin' ! 
Arrah!  no  wonder  the  divils  are  harryin' 
Jerry  McGlone. 

Ah!  but  there's  few  o'  the  race  but  would 
scorn  to  be 

Jerry  McGlone. 
Shure,  we  all  know  that  a  Celt  is  not  born  to 
be 

Livin'  alone. 
Oh,  but  we're  grateful  (I  spake  for  the  laity) 
Grateful  fur  women  the  bountiful  Deity 
Dowers  wid  beauty  an'  virtue  an'  gaiety, 
All  for  our  own! 


CARMINA  III 


A   SONG   OF   RICHES 

I'VE  a  dollar  in  me  pocket 
An'  wid  wealth  o'  health  I'm  blest, 
An'  me  pixture's  in  a  locket 

On  a  pretty  colleen's  breast. 
An'  I'll  be  as  rich  th'-morrow, 

If  the  Lord  continues  kind, 
So  there  isn't  room  for  sorrow 

In  a  corner  of  me  mind. 
What  the  future  may  be  bearin' 

I  have  little  care  to  know, 
Shure,  we'll  none  of  us  be  carin' 

In  a  thousand  years  or  so. 

Ye  have  spoke  the  word  that's  bound  ye, 
Kate  machree,  to  be  me  wife; 

Here's  two  arms  to  put  around  ye 
An'  to  work  for  ye  for  Hfe, 

An'  to  make  a  home  that's  pleasant. 
Ay,  an'  fit  to  have  ye  in. 

Faix,  there's  no  time  like  the  present. 


112  CARMINA 

Katie  darlin'  to  begin. 
Then,  through  fair  an'  stormy  weather, 

If  we're  dacint  here  below, 
Shure,  we  still  may  be  together 

In  a  thousand  years  or  so. 


C  ARM  IN  A  113 

THE   HOMING   GIRL 

'^T^WAS  the  gran'  time  the  girls  had  at 
JL       Katie  Breen's  th'-day 
To  sind  off  wid  God-speed  her  cousin, 
Mary  Carr, 
Fur  'tis  Mary  is  the  wise  girl  that  laid  away 
her  pay, 
An'  now  she's  fur  the  ould  home  away  in 
Castlebar* 
'Twas  Kate  Breen,  the  good  soul,  that  got 
the  party  up 
An'  passed  'round  the  kind  word  for  iv'ry 
wan  to  come. 
Fur  th'  ould  fr'inds  to  drop  in  an'  have  the 
bit  an'  sup. 
An'  cheer  the  heart  o'  Mary  Carr  before 
she  started  home. 
'Twas  mesel'  came  whin  Mary  came  this 

manny  year  ago, 
So  gladly  an'  proudly  I  wint  th'-day  to 
call. 


114  CARMINA 

An'  I  walked  in  me  fine  clo'es  wid  Patrick 
Kane,  me  beau; 
But  now  I  am  the  sorry  girl  I  iver  wint 
at  all. 

Shure,    Mary   Carr's   the   plain   thing,    an' 
timid  as  a  mouse  — 
'Tis  small  wonder  no  man  had  iver  liked 
her  style  — 
But  the  sorra  wan  of  all  thim  that  gathered 
in  the  house 
Had    the    half    o'    the    happiness    that 
twinkled  in  her  smile. 
Whin    she    spoke  o'   the  ould    joys    she'd 
dreamed  so  much  about  — 
The  green  grass,  the  glad  birds,  the  bles- 
sid  Irish  sky. 
Thin  wan  girl,  a  young  girl  that  hadn't  long 
bin  out. 
She  flung  up  her  two  ban's  an'  oh,  but 
she  did  cry. 
The  girls  looked  at  Mary  Carr  an'  all  their 
eyes  were  dim, 


CARMINA  115 

An'  I  looked  at  Patrick  Kane  a-standin' 

be  the  wall, 
There  was  pride,  aye!  an'  comfort  in  the 

thought  o'  havin'  him, 
But,  oh,  I  was  the  sorry  girl  I'd  iver  come 

at  all. 

An'  walkin'  home,  the  two  of  us,  he  axed 
me  why  I  cried. 
"Shure,"   sez  I,  ^'who  wouldn't  cry  fur 
sake  o'  Mary  Carr?" 
Oh,  it  was  the  black  He,  an'  shure,  I  knew 

I  Hed  — 
Not  a  wan  of  all  me  tears  but  fell  for  Castle- 
bar! 
'Twas  Mary  Carr  that  came  wid  me  this 
manny  year  ago, 
Now  'tis  she  that's  turnin'  back  an'  bound 
fur  home  alone. 
Still,  should  I  be  grudgin'  her  the  ould  de- 
lights she'll  know? 
Haven't  I  a  newer  joy  an'  sweeter  fur  me 
own? 


ii6  CARMINA 

Oh,  Patrick  Kane's  the  good  man  an'  fond 

as  wan  could  be; 
An'  shure  I  was  the  proud  girl  that  walked 

wid  him  to  call 
On  Mary  Carr  that's  not  the  half  as  fortunit 

as  me  — 
But,  oh,  I  am  the  sorry  girl  I  iver  wint  at 

all. 


CARMINA  117 


NEWS   O'   THE   WORLD 

IS  it  news  o'  the  world  that  ye're  afther? 
I'm  sorry  to  say 
There  is  little  o'  joy  or  o'  laughther 

That's  in  it  th'-day. 
Shure,  there's  nothin'  but  promise  o'  fightin' 

An'  throuble  ahead. 
Not  a  glimmer  o'  peace  shone  to  brighten 

The  gloom  that  I  read 
In  the  clouds  that  were  rumblin'  an'  roUin' 

Out  yonder  th'-day, 
Where  Cornaylius  Gavin  wint  stroUin' 

Wid  Kitty  McCrea. 

Is  it  news  o'  the  world  ye  are  wishin'  ? 

'Tis  lucky  ye  came. 
Fur  'tis  I'm  in  the  pleasant  position 

To  furnish  that  same. 
Oh,  the  joy  an'  the  peace  that's  adornin' 

This  counthry  is  grand ! 
Take  this  comfortin'  message  this  mornin': 


ii8  C  ARM  IN  A 

All's  well  in  the  land! 
'Tis  the  news  that  I  heard  in  the  gloamin', 

At  close  o'  th'-day, 
Jisht  a  whishper  that  came  to  me,  roamin' 

Wid  Kitty  McCrea. 


CARMINA  119 


THE   SON   OF   HIS   FATHER 

OH!  my,  oh!  my,  the  years  go  by 
Like  sheep  the  dogs  are  harryin'; 
But  late  I  had  a  lispin'  lad. 

An'  now  he  talks  o'  marryin' ! 
Lord  bless  me!  but  he  has  the  strut 
Of  one  that's  grand  an'  knows  it; 
No  lass  so  prim  that  looks  at  him 

But  likes  his  cut  an'  shows  it. 
An',  faix,  'twould  do  your  heart  good,  tooj 

To  hear  him  at  the  blarney; 
There's  scarce  a  lass  that  sees  him  pass 
But  wears  a  smile  for  Barney  — 
Our  Barney  — 
A  wishful  smile  for  Barney. 

Tho'  Cupid  lays  cute  snares  these  days 
When  Barney  goes  philanderin'. 

An'  all  his  traps  hold  geese,  perhaps, 
None  takes  this  bold  young  gander  in. 

Ah!  none  as  yet,  but  there's  a  net 


I20  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

That  will,  one  day  or  other, 
An'  her  I'd  name  to  bait  the  same 

Is  one  like  me,  his  mother. 
Aye!  sure  as  fate,  he'll  take  for  mate 

Sweet,  roguish  Nora  Kearney, 
Who  meets  his  wiles  with  scornful  smiles, 
As  once  I  did  with  Barney  — 
My  Barney, 
The  father  of  "our"  Barney. 


CARMINA  121 


THE   PEACEABLE   RACE 

WHO  says  that  the  Irish  are  fighters 
be  birth?" 
Says  little  Dan  Crone. 
"Faix,  there's  not  a  more  peaceable  race  on 
th'  earth, 

If  ye  Pave  'em  alone. 

"Tim  O'Toole?    Well,  I   grant   ye   now, 

there  is  a  lad 
That's  beset  wid  the  curse  o'  pugnacity  bad. 
But  he's  jisht  th'  ixciption  that's  provin'  the 

rule; 
An'  what  else  could  ye  ask  from  a  lad  Uke 

O'Toole? 
Shure,  he's  sich  a  big  mountain  o'  muscle 

and  bone, 
Sizin'  up  to  the  heft  o'  some  siventeen  stone. 
That  he  fair  aggravates  iv'ry  other  bould 

buck 
To  be  wishful  to  thump  him  a  httle  for  luck, 


122  C  ARM  IN  A 

An'  to  prove  that  there's  others  as  clever  as 

him. 
Now,  I  ask  ye,  suppose  ye  was  sturdy  as 

Tim, 
Don't  ye  think  'twould  be  right  ye  should 

take  a  delight 
In  defindin'  yer  title  an'  testin'  yer  might?" 
Says  little  Dan  Crone. 

''Is  it  me?    Arrah!  now  it  is  jokin'  ye  are. 
But  I  bid  ye  be  careful  an'  not  go  too  far. 
Shure,  it's  true  I'm  no  more  nor  the  height 

o'  yer  waist. 
But  there's  manny  a  bigger  has  sampled  a 

taste 
O'  the  knuckles  that's  bunched  in  this  little 

ould  fisht. 
Where's  the  dog  wouldn't  fight  whin  his  tail 

gets  a  twisht? 
Do  I  hunt  fur  the  throuble  ?    Mayhap,  now, 

it's  thrue 
Upon  certain  occasions  that's  jisht  what  I 

do. 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  123 

Shure,   how   else   would   they   know  —  I'm 

that  stunted  an'  small  — 
I'd  the  heart  of  a  man  in  me  body  at  all?'' 
Says  little  Dan  Crone. 

"Well,  thin,  keep  yer  opinion.     'Tis  Httle 
it's  worth," 

Says  little  Dan  Crone. 
"Faix,  we're  jisht  the  most  peaceable  race 
on  the  earth, 

If  ye  I'ave  us  alone." 


124  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


THE   DAY   WE   CELEBRATE 

L'AVE  the  yellow  gold  to  Jews  — 
Fur  it's  little  that  they  lose  — 
L'ave  the  balance  o'  world  power  to  the 
Saxon; 
Though  they  scarce  could  do  it  worse, 
L'ave  them  run  the  universe, 
'Tis  fur  little  that  they  have  that  we'd  be 
axin'. 
Sorra  wan  of  us  that  cares 
Fur  their  high  an'  mighty  airs. 
Or  the  robes  o'  r'yal  purple  an'  the  linen 
stiflf  wid  starch. 
But  there's  wan  day  in  the  year 
When  they  mustn't  interfere  — 
Shure,  the  whole  world  is  Irish  on  the  Sev- 
enteenth of  March! 

Oh,  it's  little  that  we  hold 
Of  dominion  or  of  gold 
In  the  blessid  isle  that  saw  us  first  a  nation. 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  125 

But  we  made  all  lands  our  own 

As  we  spread  from  zone  to  zone; 
So,  come  all  o'  ye!  an'  share  our  jubilation. 

Oh,  the  music  in  the  air! 

An'  the  joy  that's  ivrywhere  — 
Shure,  the  whole  blue  vault  o'  heaven  is 
wan  grand  triumphal  arch, 

An'  the  earth  below  is  gay 

Wid  its  tender  green  th'-day. 
Fur  the  whole  world  is  Irish  on  the  Seven- 
teenth o'  March! 


126  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


M' 


MONA   MACHREE 

'ONA    Machree,    I'm    the   wanderin' 
creature  now, 
Over  the  sea; 
Slave  of  no  lass,  but  a  lover  of  Nature, 
now, 

Careless  an'  free. 
Nature,  the  goddess  of  myriad  graces. 
Pours  for  lorn  lovers  a  balm  that  effaces 
Scars  from  the  heart,  in  these  smilin'  new 
places 
Far  to  the  eastward  an'  far  to  the  south 
of  you. 
Sweet  are  the  grapes  that  she  gives  me  to 

eat. 
Red    are    her    pomegranates,    luscious    an' 

sweet. 
Dreamy  the  breath  of  her  flowers  in  the 
heat  — 
But,  oh,  the  red  mouth  of  you, 
Mona  Machree! 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  127 

Mona  Machree,  though  it's  here  that  the 
money  is, 

Rather  for  me 
Dreams  an'  drowsed  rovin's  through  blooms 
where  the  honey  is, 
Wild  as  a  bee. 
She,   the   new  goddess  to  whom  I'm  be- 
holden. 
Snares  me   in  days  that   are   scented   an' 

golden 
E'en  as  the  tresses  your  temples  enfoldin', 
Aye,  an'  the  blue,  when  the  sun  has  for- 
saken it. 
Blossoms  with  jewels,   night-lamps  of  her 

throne. 
Bright  as  two  passionless  eyes  I  have  known. 
Ah!  it  is  here  that  my  heart  is  my  own  — 
But,  oh,  the  dull  ache  in  it, 
Mona  Machree! 


128       C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


OULD  BARNEY  TO  THE 
BOY 

ARRAH!  Barney  ma  bouchal,  'tis  courtin' 
ye  are, 
An'  you  but  jisht  out  o'  your  dresses! 
'Tis  the  light  in  your  eye,  Hke  a  new-risen 
star, 
That  this  news  to  yer  father  confesses. 
Now  ye're  off  to  the  town. 
For  the  sun  has  gone  down. 
An'  the  spell  o'  the  gloamin'  is  o'er  ye. 
Faith,  ye're  started  like  me. 
But  it's  lucky  ye'U  be 
If  ye  end  like  yer  father  before  ye. 

Oh,  the  glamour  o'  night 

Breeds  a  passion  too  light 
For  a  dacint  long  Hfe-time's  adornin', 

But  the  blessin'  that  cheers 

All  the  slow-wheelin'  years 
Is  the  love  that  blooms  warm  in  the  mornin'. 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  129 

Arrah!  Barney  ma  bouchal,  whin  I  was  a 
lad 
I  courted  wan  lass  an'  another. 
But  the  sorra  bit  comfort  from  anny  I  had 
Till  I  came  on  the  heart  o'  your  mother. 
Oh,  her  charms  they  were  rare 
In  the  dusk,  at  the  fair. 
At  the  dance,  in  the  house  she  was  born  in, 
But  her  soul  wasn't  found 
Till  I  happened  around 
Where  she  sang  at  her  work  in  the  mornin' ! 

Oh,  the  glamour  o'  night 

Breeds  a  passion  too  light 
For  a  dacint  long  Hfe-time's  adornin', 

But  the  blessin'  that  cheers 

All  the  slow-wheelin'  years 
Is  the  love  that  blooms  warm  in  the  mornin'. 


I30  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


GLIMMERINGS      OF     PA- 
TRIOTISM 

OCH!  the  Fourth  o'  July! 
Shure,  I  wonder  will  I 
Ever  grow  to  be  glad  fur  it's  deafenin'  thun- 
der. 
Will  the  cannon  by  day 

An'  the  rocket  by  night 
Ever  whisk  me  away 
On  a  spree  o'  delight? 
Now,  I  wonder. 

Faix,  at  prisint  'tis  little  I  mind  to  be  told 
Of  a  fight  that  is  more  nor  a  century  old, 
An'  all  thim  that  was  in  it  long  laid  in  the 
mold. 
^^They  were  heroes,"  sez  you, 
An'  all  that  may  be  true; 
But  what  comfort  at  all  could  I  find  in  that 

boast. 
Or  in  blazin'  away  at  a  red-coated  ghost 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  131 

Whin  a  shot  at  a  Kve  wan  would  cheer  me 

the  most? 
What's  a  fight  past  an'  gone  to  a  fight  yet 

to  be? 
Oh,  if  anny  sich  come  to  this  land  o'  the 

free, 
Jisht  a  fight  fur  the  joy  of  it,  count  upon 
me! 
An'  how  manny  good  men 

In  that  Glorious  Row 
Had  the  thought  of  this  then 
That  I  have  of  it  now  ? 
Faix,  I  wonder. 

An'  this  lady,  Columbia  stately  an'  grand, 
Wid  the  shield  at  her  side  an'  the  sword  in 

her  hand, 
Shure,  she  seems  to  be  queen,  if  there's  wan 
in  the  land. 
^^ She's  the  Red,  White,  an'  Blue 
That  we'd  die  fur,"  sez  you. 
Would  I  fight  for  her,  too?    Wid  the  best 
o'  good  grace. 


132  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

Wid  the  blood  o'  me  heart's  core,  me  fancy 

would  trace 
Added  beauties  to  those  that  you  see  in  her 

face. 
Fur  she'd  have  a  wee  tilt  to  her  nose  in  the 

air, 
An'  a  wild  Irish  rose  in  the  gold  of  her  hair, 
An'  her  eyes  would  be  those  of  sweet  Katty 
O'Hare. 
Ah!  how  manny  brave  men 

In  that  Glorious  Row 
Fought  their  fight  fur  Her  then 
As  I'd  fight  for  Her  now? 
Faix,  I  wonder. 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  133 


A   BIT   OF   A   RIDDLE 

THRUE  fur  you,  Kitty  Kane,  as  you 
said  but  this  minute. 
Life's  a  quare  kind  o'  riddle,  a  plague  at 
the  best; 
Shure,   I   know  of  but  wan  compinsation 
that's  in  it, 
Jisht  wan  thing  that's  so  sweet  it  makes 
up  fur  the  rest. 
It  begins  wid  a  *'y"  an'  it  ends  wid  a  "u"  — 
You  may  pucker  yer  brow,  that's  as  much 
as  I'll  tell. 
An',  besides,  don't  ye  see,  'tis  but  my  point 
o'  view; 
You  must  work  out  your  riddle  o'  Hfe  fur 
yersel'. 

You  must  look  fur  your  joy  in  another  direc- 
tion. 
An'  I  beg  you  to  light  in  yer  innocent 
eyes 


134  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

Jisht  a  spark  o'  sweet  pity  to  aid  the  inspec- 
tion, 
Since  the  thing  is  so  small,  an'  so  lowly 
it  lies. 
It  begins  wid  an  "m"  an'  it  ends  wid  an 
"e"  — 
Oh,  it's  little  it  merits  your  notice,  'tis 
true. 
Still  there's  good  in  it,  too,  though  that  same 
may  but  be 
A  reflection  of  all  that  is  sweetest  in  you. 

Och!  the  bothersome  riddle!    I  wonder  now 
whether 
We  could  make  our  luck  betther  if  we 
should  combine? 
Faix,  I  think  if  we'd  jisht  put  our  two  heads 
together 
We  could  spell  in  wan  word  all  your  joy, 
dear,  an'  mine. 
It  begins  wid  a  ^^u"  an'  it  ends  wid  an  "s." 
There's  the  sum  o'  my  joy  an'  the  sum 
o'  your  own! 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  135 

Och!  the  riddle  o'  life's  so  disthressin'  to 

guess, 
Nayther  wan  of  us,  dear,  could  have  solved 

it  alone. 


136  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


CORNAYLIUS      HA~HA~HA- 
HANNIGAN 

''T^WAS  the  godfather  stuttered,  or  may- 

A       hap  the  priest; 
But,   be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  certain,  at 

least, 
That  the  wan  or  the  other  was  surely  to 

blame 
Fur  presentin'  the  lad  the  quare  twisht  to 
his  name. 
For  there  at  the  christ'nin', 
Wid  iv'ry  wan  list'nin'. 
Now  didn't  his  Riverence,  Father  O'Flan- 
igan, 
Wid  nervousness  stam'rin', 
Bechune  the  child's  clam'rin', 
Baptize   it    ^Xornayhus   Ha-Ha-Ha-Hanni- 
igan!" 

Wid  these  words  from  the  priest,  shure,  the 
cute  little  rogue 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  137 

Up   an'    stopped   his   own   mouth   wid   his 

chubby  kithogue, 
An'  the  dimples  broke  out  an'   proceeded 

to  chase 
All  the  tears  an'  the  frowns  from  his  inno- 
cint  face. 
For,  faix,  he  was  afther 
Absorbin'  the  laughther 
Stuck  into  his  name  by  good  Father  O'Flan- 
igan! 
Now  that's  the  thruth  in  it, 
An'  so  from  that  minute 
Sure,  iv'ry  wan  called  the  lad  "Ha-Ha-Ha- 
Hannigan." 

Now,  the  "ha!  ha!  ha!"  stuck  to  him  close 

as  his  name. 
For  the  sorra  a  tear  could  be  drownin'  the 

same. 
Not  a  care  iver  touched  him  from  that  bles- 

sid  day 
But  his  gift  o'  the  laughter  would  drive  it 

away. 


138  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

Wid  jokin'  an'  chaffin' 

He  niver  stopped  laughin', 
Or  if  he  did  stop  he  immajiate  began  agin; 

An'  iv'ry  wan  hearin' 

His  laughter  so  cheerin' 
Jisht  j'ined  in  the  mirth  o'  young  ^'Ha-Ha- 
Ha-Hannigan." 

Shure,  the  throubles  o'  life  are  so  palthry  an' 

small 
'Tis  a  pity  we  let  thim  disthurb  us  at  all. 
There  is  niver  a  care  but  would  Pave  us  in 

p'ace 
If  we'd  only  stand  up  an'  jisht  laugh  in  its 
face. 
Faix,  life  were  a  pleasure 
If  all  had  the  treasure 
Conferred  so  unthinkin'  by  Father  O'Flan- 
igan; 
If  all  could  but  borrow 
That  cure-all  for  sorrow 
Possissed  by  "Comaylius  Ha-Ha-Ha-Han- 
nigan!" 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  139 


THEPAUPERAT   THEGATE 

IF  Father  Mack  was  not  so  old 
He'd  know  the  thing  to  do. 
He'd  never  let  the  parish  hold 

So  impudent  a  shrew 
And  bitter-hearted  common  scold 
As  Mary  Ann  McHugh. 

She's  made  the  mother  heart  in  me 

As  heavy  as  a  stone, 
This  happy  day  that  was  to  be 

The  proudest  I  have  known, 
Whose  sun  this  mornin'  rose  and  smiled, 

His  blessin's  full  to  pour 
Upon  the  wedding  of  my  child, 

Marie  Eleanore. 
Oh,  never  was  there  bride  more  glad; 

No  cloud  was  in  her  sky. 
And  every  blessed  thing  she  had 

That  ever  wealth  could  buy. 
You  would  not  find,  where'er  you'd  search, 


140  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

A  fashionabler  flock, 
Than  that  assembled  in  the  church 

At  haff-pawst  ten  o'clock. 
Such  elegance  and  wealth  and  style! 

It  swelled  my  heart  with  pride, 
When  my  Marie  walked  down  the  aisle 

A  happy,  happy  bride. 
Great  crowds  was  there  outside  to  wait 

And  watch  us  passin'  through. 
But  first  among  them,  by  the  gate, 

Stood  Mary  Ann  McHugh; 
And  clawin'  with  her  skinny  hand 

The  bridal  veil,  she  cried: 
"Oh,  Mary  Ellen,  lass,  you're  grand! 

Was  ever  sweeter  bride  ? 
'Tis  proud  to-day  your  father'd  be, 

For,  glory  be  to  God! 
'Tis  scarce  a  score  o'  years  since  he 

Was  carryin'  the  hod." 

^  *  H«  H^  :|e  •^' 

My  day  was  darkened  after  that; 

I  was  so  mortified. 
Behind  my  carriage  door  I  sat 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  141 

And  cried,  and  cried,  and  cried. 
And  now  I've  been  to  see  the  priest 

And,  comfortless,  come  back. 
I  thought  some  helpful  word,  at  least, 

I'd  get  from  Father  Mack; 
But  he's  too  old  to  understand, 

And  so  he  merely  smiled 
And  took  me  gently  by  the  hand 

And  said  to  me:  "My  child. 
Our  dead  are  wise,  and  if  they've  got 

One  joy  in  you  or  me, 
'Tis  pride  in  what  we  are,  not  what 

We  think  we'd  like  to  be." 

If  Father  Mack  was  not  so  old 

He'd  know  the  thing  to  do. 
He'd  never  let  the  parish  hold 

So  impudent  a  shrew 
And  bitter-hearted  common  scold 

As  Mary  Ann  McHugh. 


142  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


THE   OMADHAUN  ^ 

THE  lads  that  wastes  their  days  in 
school, 
They  nod  an'  wink  an'  call  me  **  fool," 
But,  och!  'tis   little  mind  I  have  to  scold 
them. 
Wid  all  their  books  they've  never  read 
The  half  of  all  that's  in  me  head; 
They  couldn't  un'erstan'  it  if  I  told  them. 

Did  y'  ever  catch  a  leprechawn  ? 
Ye  never  did!    For  why?    'Tis  gone 
Before  ye  know  the  crayture's  nigh; 
For  if  ye  held  him  wid  yer  eye 
He'd  have  to  take  ye  to  the  spot 
Where  all  his  gold  is  in  the  pot. 
But  me  they  never  hold  in  fear  — 
Small  care  have  fools  for  gold  an'  gear  — 
So  when  they  meet  me  on  me  way 
They  stop  to  pass  the  time  o'  day. 
Did  y'  ever  know  the  funny  things 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  143 

A  thrush  can  tell  ye  ?    When  he  sings 

Close  both  yer  ears  wid  ayther  han' 

An'  then  as  quick  as  e'er  ye  can 

L'ave   loose,   hold   tight,   Pave   loose,   hold 

tight - 
But,  och!  ye'd  never  do  it  right! 
Did  y'  ever  know  jisht  how  and  when 
'Tis  aisiest  to  catch  a  wren  ? 
"The  wren,  the  wren,  the  king  o'  birds, 
St.  Stephen's  Day,  caught  in  the  furze!" 
Lasht  Stephen's  Day  mayhap  ye  heard 
Who  was  it  snared  the  nimble  bird 
Upon  the  bush  that  through  the  town 
The  lads  paraded  up  and  down, 
The  while  they  begged  from  door  to  door, 
The  jinglin'  coppers  by  the  score. 
'Twas  me !    I  snared  the  wren  an'  got 
No  ha'penny  of  all  the  lot. 
Not  wan  for  me !    They  were  so  mean 
They  spint  it  all  at  Kane's  shebeen. 

Och,  l'ave  them  wink  an'  call  me  "fool," 
Them  lads  that  wastes  their  days  in  school, 


144  CARMINA 

An'  oulder  wans  that  spiles  their  brains  wid 
drinkin'. 

'Tis  they're  the  fools  themsel's,  no  less. 

For  sorra  wan  o'  them  could  guess 
The  knowledgable  things  I  do  be  thinkin'. 


A  N  G  L  I  C  E 


HARK    YE!    MERRIE    GLEE 

MEN! 

GOOD  morrow!    Men  of  gay  employ, 
May  peace  attend  your  way, 
And  may  no  note  of  grief  alloy 
The  merrie  measure  of  your  joy 
Upon  this  Christmas  Day. 

And  if,  belike  ye  only  think 

Of  ale  and  goodly  roast, 
Then  may  your  songs  beget  the  chink 
Of  gold  to  buy  the  meat  and  drink 

Which  ye  esteem  the  most. 

But  if,  beneath  the  motley  coat. 

Beat  hearts  for  higher  things, 

Ah!  then  ye  know  how  weak  the  note 

He  makes  within  his  straining  throat 

Who  feels  not  what  he  sings. 
147 


148  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

And  all  the  glees  and  merrie  trolls 

That  ye  may  sing  to-day, 
Are  nothing  to  the  song  that  rolls, 
Unheard  by  men,  from  grateful  souls 

Of  simple  folk  who  pray. 

This  day  upon  a  manger-bed 

Was  born  the  Godly  Boy, 
Whose  blood,  another  day,  was  shed 
That  souls  that  hungered  might  be  fed 

To  their  eternal  joy. 

So,  if  your  glees  small  comfort  bring. 

Your  hunger  to  allay. 
Your  souls  may  still  be  banqueting, 
If  ye  the  sweeter  song  will  sing 

Of  simple  folk  who  pray. 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  149 


OCTOBER 

GOME,  forsake  your  city  street! 
Come  to  God's  own  fields  and  meet 
October. 
Not  the  lean,  unkempt  and  brown 
Counterfeit  that  haunts  the  town, 
Pointing,  like  a  thing  of  gloom. 
At  dead  summer  in  her  tomb; 
Reading  in  each  fallen  leaf 
Nothing  but  regret  and  grief. 
Come  out,  where,  beneath  the  blue, 
You  may  frolic  with  the  true 
October. 

Call  his  name  and  mark  the  sound, 
Opulent  and  full  and  round: 

^^  October." 
Come,  and  gather  from  his  hand 
Lavish  largess  of  the  land; 
Read  in  his  prophetic  eyes. 
Clear  as  skies  of  paradise. 


ISO  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

Not  of  summer  days  that  died, 
But  of  summer  fructified! 
Hear,  O  soul,  his  message  sweet. 
Come  to  God's  own  fields  and  meet 
October. 


C  AR  MIN  A  151 


THE   CASTLE   IMPREG- 
NABLE 

SO,  Wind  of  the  North,  you  are  faring 
forth 
To  harry  us  once  again. 
We've  hearkened  before  to  your  call  to  war 

And  welcome  it  now  as  then ; 
Such  strife  is  good  when  the  sluggish  blood 
Creeps  slow  in  the  veins  of  men. 
So,  wind  of  the  North, 
Come  forth!    Come  forth! 
And  harry  us  yet  again. 

Yestereve  he  came,  when  the  sunset's  flame 

Had  burned  to  an  ashen  grey. 
And  we  heard  him  first  like  a  far,  faint  burst 

Of  horns  in  the  woodland  way. 
But  he  gathered  might  as  he  rode  the  night; 

How  bitter  his  strength,  how  great. 
We  knew  at  last  when  his  full-blown  blast 

Rang  loud  at  the  outer  gate. 


IS2  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

And  each  echoing  note  was  a  blow  that  smote 

On  casement  and  roof  and  wall; 
And  we  heard,  in  the  wood  where  the  Titans 
stood, 
The  noise  of  a  great  oak's  fall. 
With  buflfet  and  blow,  and  the  arrows  of 
snow 
That  drove  in  a  smothering  rack, 
He  taunted  us  sore  with  the  challenge  of  war, 

But  gaily  we  flung  it  back, 
As  we  heaped  great  logs  on  the  hearthstone 
dogs. 
And  over  our  leagured  dome. 
In  a  pennant  of  smoke  from  our  chimney, 
broke 
The  flag  of  the  castle  —  Home! 

So  his  hordes  swarmed  forth  all  night  from 
the  north, 

Investing  us  as  we  lay, 
*Till  the  mystic,  white,  half-luminous  night 

Was  merged  in  the  whiter  day. 
It  was  then  we  rose  in  our  might  to  close 


CARMINA  153 

At  handygripes  with  the  foe. 
Oh!  the  sally  out  for  that  fierce  glad  bout, 

Knee-deep  in  the  swirling  snow! 
Oh,  the  power  to  feel  in  his  grapple  of  steel 

Such  thrilling  and  panting  bliss 
As  the  maiden  knows,  who  requites  with 
blows 

Her  lover's  audacious  kiss. 
Oh,  we  felt  no  fear  that  our  foeman  here 

Waged  war  he  could  hope  to  win. 
For  he  wrought  in  the  breast  but  a  keener  zest 

For  all  that  was  housed  therein. 
For  the  love  of  life,  for  the  babes,  for  wife, 

For  joys  that  be,  and  to  come. 
For  all  things  there  in  our  staunch,  four- 
square. 

Impregnable  castle  —  Home! 

Yea!    Wind  of  the  North,  come  forth,  come 
forth. 

And  harry  us  yet  again. 
Such  strife  is  good  when  the  sluggish  blood 

Creeps  slow  in  the  veins  of  men. 


154  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


THE   POET 

THE  truest  poet  is  not  one 
Whose  golden  fancies  fuse  and  run 
To  moulded  phrases,  crusted  o'er 
With  flashing  gems  of  metaphor; 
Whose  art,  responsive  to  his  will. 
Makes  voluble  the  thoughts  that  fill 
The  cultured  windings  of  his  brain, 
Yet  takes  no  sounding  of  the  pain, 
The  joy,  the  yearnings  of  the  heart 
Untrammelled  by  the  bonds  of  art. 
O!  poet  truer  far  than  he 
Is  such  an  one  as  you  may  be, 
When  in  the  quiet  night  you  keep 
Mute  vigil  on  the  marge  of  sleep. 

If  then,  with  beating  heart,  you  mark 
God's  nearer  presence  in  the  dark. 
And  musing  on  the  wondrous  ways 
Of  Him  who  numbers  all  your  days, 
Pay  tribute  to  Him  with  your  tears 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  155 

For  joys,  for  sorrows,  hopes  and  fears 
Which  He  has  blessed  and  given  to  you, 
You  are  the  poet,  great  and  true. 
For  there  are  songs  within  the  heart 
Whose  perfect  melody  no  art 
Can  teach  the  tongue  of  man  to  phrase. 
These  are  the  songs  His  poets  raise, 
When  in  the  quiet  night  they  keep 
Mute  vigil  on  the  marge  of  sleep. 


156  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


ON    A    MAY    MORNING 

THE  weary  heart  hath  Night  for  peace, 
If  Day  deny  it  bhss, 
But  Where's  the  heart  would  seek  release 

From  such  a  day  as  this  ? 
Night  gave  me  rest  and  quiet  breath 
Within  that  outer  keep  of  Death 

Where  Sleep  is  gentle  warden, 
But,  oh!  the  living  joys  that  thrill 
Across  this  sunny  window-sill 

That  looks  upon  my  garden ! 
The  joyance  of  the  Spring  is  there. 
The  moist  earth  breathes  it  on  the  air; 

And  God's  sweet  prophets,  making 
Their  orisons  in  music,  sing: 
^' Sleep  hath  no  peace  except  it  bring 

A  sweeter  joy  at  waking." 
May  I,  one  night,  with  peaceful  brow, 

Pass  Death,  the  grisly  warden, 
And  know  the  joy  of  life,  as  now 

I  see  it  in  my  garden. 


CARMINA  157 


TO   A   ROBIN 

I  HEARD  thee,  joyous  votary, 
Pour  forth  thy  heart  in  one 
Sweet  simple  strain  of  melody 
To  greet  the  rising  sun. 
When   he  across   the   morning's  verge   his 

first  faint  flare  had  flung 
And  found  the  crimson    of   thy    breast    the 
whisp'ring  leaves  among, 
In  thine  own  tree 
Which  sheltered  thee, 
Thy  mate,  thy  nest,  thy  young. 

I  marked  thee,  sorrow's  votary, 

When  in  the  noon  of  day 
Young  vandals  stormed  thy  sacred  tree 
And  bore  thine  all  away; 
The   notes    of   grief    that   rent   thy   breast 

touched  kindred  chords  in  mine. 
For  memories  of  other  days,  though  slumber- 
ing, still  confine 


158  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

In  mine  own  heart 
The  bitter  smart 
Of  sorrow  such  as  thine. 

I  hear  thee  now,  sweet  votary, 

Beside  thy  ruined  nest, 
Lift  up  thy  flood  of  melody 
Against  the  crimsoned  west. 
Forgetful  of  all  else  in  this,  thy  one  sweet 

joyous  strain. 
I  thank  thee  for  this  ecstasy  of  my  remem- 
bered pain; 
Thou  liftest  up 
My  sorrow's  cup 
To  sweeten  it  again. 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  159 


THE   JOURNEY'S   END 

GOOD-BYE,  dear  heart.    Be  thou,  as 
I  am,  glad. 
Glad    for    the    grace    of    loneliness    and 
yearning 
My  heart,  far  faring  from  thee,  shall  have 
had 
Ere  its  returning. 
Pluck  future  joy  from  out  this  present  pain; 
Rejoice  to  know  that  these  small  seeds  of 
sorrow 
Shall  be  Love's  harvest  when  we  meet  again, 
Some  bright  to-morrow. 


i6o  CARMINA 


ALL   HALLOWS   EVE 

A  LOVER  of  true  lovers  all, 
I  tune  my  heart  to  yours, 
All  ye  who  hold,  in  cot  or  hall. 

One  passion  that  endures; 
And  though  for  love's  lost  mom  ye  pine 

Or  in  its  noon  delight, 
Your  heart-song  shall  be  merged  with  mine 
Upon  this  holy  night. 

I  sing  with  thee,  O  merry  boy. 

At  young  love's  opening  door; 
I  sigh  with  thee,  lone  man,  whose  joy 

Has  been,  but  is  no  more. 
True  love  is  deathless.    Wherefore  grieve? 

What  was,  again  shall  be. 
I  sing,  this  sweet  All  Hallows  Eve, 

Love's  immortality. 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  i6i 


THE    DAY    OF    THE   CIRCUS 
HORSE 

IT  was  a  fiery  circus  horse 
That  ramped  and  stamped  and  neighed, 
Till  every  creature  in  its  course 
Fled,  frightened  and  dismayed. 
The  chickens  on  the  roadway's  edge 
Arose,  and  flapped  their  wings, 
And  making  for  the  sheltering  hedge 
Flew  off  like  crazy  things. 

Nor  iron  gates  nor  fences  barred 

That  mettled  steed's  career. 
It  galloped  right  across  our  yard 

And  filled  us  all  with  fear; 
And  when  it  tossed  its  head  and  ran 
Straight  through  the  pantry  door. 
Cook  almost  dropped  her  frying-pan 

Upon  the  kitchen  floor! 


i62  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

It  neighed  and  pranced  and  wheeled  about 

And  scampered  off,  but  then 
We  scarcely  saw  the  creature  out 

When  it  was  in  again. 
And  so  throughout  the  livelong  day, 

Through  house  and  yard  and  street, 
That  charger  held  its  fearsome  way 

And  only  stopped  to  eat. 

But  when,  at  dusk,  a  little  lame, 

It  slowly  climbed  the  stairs. 
Behold!  a  gentle  lady  came 

And  made  it  say  its  prayers. 
Now,  what  a  wondrous  change  you  see! 

'Sh!    Come  and  take  a  peep  — 
Here  lies,  as  tame  as  tame  can  be, 

A  little  boy,  asleep! 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  163 


TO   THE   JOY-BRINGER 

HAPPY,  together  we  have  watched  our 
boys 
At  merrymaking,  by  the  summer  sea, 
In  autunrn  woods,  beneath  our  own  roof- 
tree. 
Nor  ever  wished  to  draw  them  from  their  toys 
For  formal  thanks  to  us;  for  through  the 
noise 
Of  their  rough  play  and  fresh,  unfettered 

glee 
Rang  praise  enough,  dear  heart,  for  thee 
and  me. 
Who,  under  God,  are  makers  of  their  joys. 

Oh,  then,  dear  lady,  deem  me  not  remiss 
In  that  I  have  but  seldom  set  apart 

Thy  name  in  praiseful  song.    My  singing  is. 
Like  any  child's,  a  thing  devoid  of  art; 

But  joy  it  hath  and  thine  all  praise  for  this  — 
I  sing  beneath  the  shelter  of  thy  heart. 


SONGS  OF  THE  MONTHS 


A  SONG  FOR   JANUARY 

^'TT^WAS  Joy  that  laid  the  passing  year, 
-*-      'Tis  Joy  that  speeds  the  new; 

All  joy  that  I  have  known,  my  dear, 
Hath  been  and  is  in  you. 

All  peace  and  hope  of  peace,  my  dear, 
Forever  lives  in  you. 

Like  Janus,  who  with  faces  twain 

Kept  watch  in  ancient  Rome, 
My  love  shall  front  old  days  again 

And  days  that  are  to  come. 

So,  in  this  month  of  Janus,  here 
Where  merge  the  old  and  new, 

Howe'er  my  joy  may  turn,  my  dear, 
It  must  envisage  you. 

Its  past  may  count  but  twenty  suns, 

Its  future  reacheth  far; 
167 


i68  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

Beyond  the  edge  of  time  it  runs, 
Beyond  the  utmost  star. 

'Twas  Joy  that  laid  the  passing  year, 
'Tis  Joy  that  speeds  the  new; 

All  joy  that  I  have  known,  my  dear. 
Hath  been  and  is  in  you. 

All  peace  and  hope  of  peace,  my  dear, 
Forever  lives  in  you. 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  169 


A   SONG   FOR   FEBRUARY 

WHEN  the  gusts  of  midwinter  have 
whitened 
The  graves  of  the  flowers 
Whose   warm   fragrance   and   beauty   once 
brightened 
Our  happiest  hours, 
Shall  we  muse  on  one  memoried  pleasure 

And  mourn  for  its  dearth? 
Nay,  my  love,  here  is  measure  for  measure  — 
Here's  home  and  the  hearth. 

There  is  nothing  of  ill  can  betide  me. 
Though  all  joys  but  my  hearth  be  denied 
me. 

Where  the  kettle  is  singing  its  tune. 
And  you  sit  on  the  settle  beside  me. 

It  is  June,  it  is  June! 

For  the  joy  one  fleet  season  hath  taken 
Another  is  bom. 


I70  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

Though  our  woods,   by  the  thrushes  for- 
saken, 
Stand  cold  and  forlorn. 
And    though,    voiceless,    the    brooklet    lies 
sleeping. 
Ice-bound  in  the  earth  — 
Ah!  the  warmth  and  the  music  upleaping 
At  home,  from  the  hearth! 

There  is  nothing  of  ill  can  betide  me, 
Though  all  joys  but  my  hearth  be  denied 
me. 

Where  the  kettle  is  singing  its  tune. 
And  you  sit  on  the  settle  beside  me, 

It  is  June,  it  is  June! 


CARMINA  171 


A  SONG  FOR   MARCH 

WHO  sings  of  March  must  sing  the 
mad, 
Lone  man-at-arms,  the  straggler  clad 

In  motley  white  and  brown  — 
Who  in  the  wake  of  Winter's  flight 
Turns  now  to  caper,  now  to  fight  — 

Half  hector  and  half  clown. 
One  moment  from  a  cloud-capped  hill 
He  blares  his  slogan,  wild  and  shrill; 

The  next,  with  gusty  laughter. 
Outsteps  the  sunbeams  as  they  dance. 
And  leers,  and  flouts  with  backward  glance. 
The  maid  who  follows  after. 
O!  sing  the  maid, 
The  light-heart  maid, 
Who  follows,  follows  after. 

He  flees  her  down  the  lengthening  days; 
She  follows  him  through  woodland  ways, 
O'er  hills  and  vales  between, 


172  CARMINA 

And  sets  for  mark  of  victory 

On  every  bush  and  hedge  and  tree 

Her  flag  of  tender  green ; 
And  when  her  breath  hath  spiced  the  night 
With  promise  of  the  warm  deUght 

Of  young  June's  love  and  laughter, 
No  other  song  may  true  hearts  sing 
But  "Speed  thy  passing,  March,  and  bring 

The  maid  who  follows  after; 
The  light-heart  maid, 
The  lily  maid. 

Who  follows,  follows  after." 


CARMINA  173 


A  SONG  FOR  APRIL 

{To  Nancy  on  her  fifth  birthday) 

"  T    ET  lovers  raise 

-L'    In  April's  praise 
Songs  sprung  of  pagan  fancy. 

But,  oh,  for  me. 

With  eyes  to  see 
Her  very  soul  in  Nancy, 

They  cannot  sing 

So  sweet  a  thing 
As  this  that  April  taught  me  — 

The  blessing  of 

The  little  love 
Whom  years  ago  she  brought  me. 

So,  Loveling,  come!  we'll  wander  through 

Your  native  fields  together, 
And  I  will  make  my  song  of  you 

All  out  of  April  weather; 
Upon  a  time  when  God's  great  plans 

Were  in  his  looms  above  us, 


174  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

And  all  His  angel-artisans, 

Who  cherish  us  and  love  us, 
Shot  shining  shuttles  in  and  out 

To  fashion  April  weather. 
The  little  angels  sat  about 

And  sang  and  played  together. 
Oh,  you  shall  hear  the  game  they  played, 

So  innocent  and  jolly; 
They  took  the  weavers'  shreds  and  made 

A  little  angel  dolly! 
Of  blended  blossoms  pink  and  white. 

The  little  angels  made  it. 
With  every  essence  of  delight 

Endowed  it  and  arrayed  it; 
With  soft  blue  bits  of  April  skies 

And  sunlight's  golden  flashes 
They  wrought  the  beauty  of  its  eyes 

And  of  its  hair  and  lashes. 
No  shred  the  April  weavers  left 

But  those  small  angels  caught  it, 
Inwove  it  in  their  mimic  weft 

And  fashioned  it  and  wrought  it. 
Then  God,  who  watched  their  labour,  smiled 


CARMINA  175 

And  took  it  and  caressed  it, 
And  lo!  it  was  a  living  child, 

For  with  His  breath  He  blessed  it. 
So  when  the  weavers'  work  was  done, 

All  in  the  bright  spring  weather. 
Sweet  April  and  the  little  one 

Came  down  to  earth  together, 
And  straight  to  our  own  home  she  flew 

And  gave  you  to  your  mother! 
Ay!  sweet,  the  little  child  was  you, 

Just  Nancy  and  no  other. 

O!  who  may  sing 

A  sweeter  thing 
Than  this  that  April  taught  me. 

The  blessing  of 

The  little  love 
Whom  years  ago  she  brought  me  ? 


176  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


A   SONG   FOR   MAY 

AWAKE!  arise!  grey  dreams  and  slum- 
ber scorning, 
For  every  dormer  looking  on  the  east 
Is  portal  to  the  banquet  hall  this  morning 
Where  May  hath  called  her  lovers  to  her 
feast. 
Lo!  as  it  were  a  pledging  goblet,  glowing 

In  her  rose  fingers  over  which  do  run 
The  golden  bubbles  poured  to  overflowing, 

Up,  up,  she  hfts  the  sun! 
Oh,  drink  with  her  this  airy  wine  of  spring. 
That  from  her  hands  her  winged  breezes 
bring. 
Sweet  philter  for  all  hearts  on  earth  that 
be! 
Hark!  how  the  birds  are  drunk  with  it  and 
sing; 
IVIark,   where  the  flushed  winds  spill  it 
on  the  sea, 
How,  lapping  it,  the  waves  go  carolling; 


CARMINA  177 

See  how   dull   earth,   meek   flower   and 

stately  tree, 
Where'er  the  breezes  haste  it. 
Rejoice  that  they  may  taste  it. 
Shall  we,  then,  slumb'ring,  waste  it  — 

This  draught  of  ecstasy? 

0  lovers  all,  in  this  sweet  wine 

1  pledge  you  and  your  loves  and  mine  — 

A  cup  with  you! 
Up!  up!  with  you. 
And  drink  the  May  with  me! 


178  CARMINA 


A    SONG    FOR    JUNE 

'^TT^IS  June!  the  glad  time  when  I  found 

A       thee, 

O  thou,  my  sweet  flower  of  love! 
The  dear  olden  glamour  is  'round  thee. 

The  same  tender  sky  bends  above. 
New  beauties  the  summer  discloses. 

But  none  that  can  rival  thee  now; 
Not  one  of  its  fairest  young  roses 

Is  perfect  as  thou. 

One  June  brings  the  red  rose  of  passion 

And  marks  its  frail  beauty  decline. 
But  June  upon  June  could  not  fashion 

The  rose  of  a  love  such  as  thine. 
Not  long  in  the  gardens  of  pleasure 

Are  love's  sweetest  flowers  possessed; 
The  love  that  hath  leavening  measure 

Of  sorrow  is  best. 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  179 

This  June  its  new  beauties  discloses, 
But  none  that  can  rival  thee  now. 

Not  one  of  its  fairest  young  roses 
Is  perfect  as  thou. 


i8o  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


A   SONG   FOR    JULY 

'^  I  ^IS  the  noon  of  the  year. 

J-       As  a  toiler,  oppressed 
By  the  labour  and  heat, 

Folds  his  hands  on  his  breast, 
Drawing  strength  from  his  dreams, 

Lo!  the  earth  swings  at  rest 
In  the  noon  of  the  year. 

'Tis  the  noon  of  the  year. 

Ere  it  pass  to  its  wane. 
Over  full-bosomed  trees, 

Over  yellowing  grain. 
Earth,  the  toiler,  a-drowse. 

Must  revive  him  again 

In  the  noon  of  the  year. 

'Tis  the  noon  of  the  year. 

Come,  be  one  with  it,  sweet! 
Love  in  idleness  calls 

Through  the  languorous  heat, 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  i8i 

Where  the  dream  poppies  nod 

In  the  wind-wimpled  wheat, 

In  the  noon  of  the  year. 


i82  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


A   SONG   FOR    AUGUST 

SINCE  thou  hast  gone,  I  often  see 
In  garden  closes 
Faint-visioned  effigies  of  thee 

Among  the  roses; 
Some  semblance  of  thy  beauty's  bloom, 
Some  savour  of  the  sweet  perfume 

That  clung  around  thee. 
But  never  was  I  fain  to  say 
^^This  rose  is  thine"  until  to-day  — 

To-day  I  found  thee. 

Where  Poverty  in  squalor  lies, 

Within  the  city, 
Where  summer  sears  but  never  sighs 

With  breath  of  pity, 
How  little  speaks  of  thee;  but  there 
Thy  rose  of  roses,  sweet  and  fair, 

I  found  this  morning! 
The  white  rose  in  its  broken  pot 
An  attic  window's  garden-plot 

I  saw  adorning. 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  183 

Ne'er  bloomed  a  sweeter  flower  of  love 

In  greenest  valley, 
Than  that  white  rose,  set  high  above 

The  squalid  alley. 
If  anywhere  on  earth  thou  art. 
Here  would'st  thou  hide  thy  mother  heart 

In  self-abasement; 
This  rose  must  house  thy  spirit  mild 
To  cheer  the  little  sickly  child 

Behind  that  casement. 


i84  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


A   SONG   FOR   SEPTEMBER 

There's  a  death-damp  in  the  dawn 
And  a  fever  in  the  noon; 
Summer's  tender  bloom  is  gone 
And  her  soul  will  follow  soon. 
Yet  the  leaves  upon  her  trees 

And  her  nodding  flowers  fling 
Benedictions  down  the  breeze 
As  they  sing: 

^^^Morituri  salutamus,' 

But  we  shall  not  die  in  vain. 
We  shall  fill  your  dreams  with  beauty 

Till  the  summer  comes  again." 

There  are  voices  in  the  night, 

And  the  calm  stars  overhead 
Are  like  tapers  set  a-light 

In  the  chamber  of  the  dead. 
And  the  mourning  katydid 

Sits  and  beats  its  strident  wings, 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  185 

In  its  leafy-covert  hid, 
And  it  sings: 

"^Morituri  salutamus,' 

But  we  shall  not  die  in  vain, 
We  shall  fill  your  dreams  with  beauty 

Till  the  summer  comes  again." 


i86  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


A   SONG   FOR  OCTOBER 

FRUITFUL  October!  so  fair  and  calm, 
Singing  of  God  and  His  charity, 
Every  note  of  thy  joyous  psalm 

Chords  of  my  heart  give  back  to  thee. 
Joy  for  the  riches  thy  bounty  yields 
Over  the  breadth  of  our  smiling  fields! 
Out  of  the  months  that  have  gone  before, 
Gathering  tribute  for  this  thy  store. 
E'en  from  the  torpid  December  moon. 
From   the   vernal   rains   and    the  heats  of 

June, 
All    that  was  good   thou  hast  drawn   and 
brought. 
Nothing  a  loss; 
E'en  from  the  dross. 
Alchemist  marvellous,  thou  hast  wrought 
Misted  gold  for  thy  noon's  delights, 
Silver  of  frost  for  thy  twinkling  nights. 
Blest  in  thy  blessing,  all  beauty  now 
Glows  as  a  diadem  on  thy  brow. 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  187 

So,  let  me  sing  to  thee, 

So,  let  me  bring  to  thee 
Praise  of  the  queen  of  my  soul,  for  she, 
Bountiful  bringer  of  joys  to  me, 
Wearing  thy  glory,  is  kin  to  thee. 
How  hath  she  wrought    with  the   passing 

years  ? 
All  of  their  pleasures  and  pains  and  tears. 
All  their  rose  hopes  and  their  pallid  fears,    , 
Through  her  sweet  being  have  issued  forth 
Fused  into  treasure  of  priceless  worth. 
Look  on  the  fruits  of  her  alchemy. 
Lisping  their  music  around  her  knee. 
Muse  on  the  splendour  of  her  sweet  face, 
Motherly  wisdom  and  maiden  grace. 
Gold  of  your  noon-time  is  in  her  hair; 
Aye,  and  your  silver  of  frost  is  there. 
Tell  me,  October,  oh,  who  so  fair? 

Not  even  thou 

Weareth  a  brow 
Fuller  of  beauty  or  freer  of  care. 
Oh,  for  the  guerdon  of  quiet  bliss. 
For  the  yet  warm  heart  and  the  cool  sweet  kiss 


i88  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

Of  her  perfect  loving;  for  this,  for  this, 
Fruitful  October,  so  fair  and  calm, 
Singing  of  God  and  His  charity, 
Every  note  of  thy  joyous  psalm 
Chords  of  my  heart  give  back  to  thee! 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  189 


A   SONG  FOR  NOVEMBER 

WHEN  crows  croak  in  the  leaden  sky 
O'er  prone  grey  field  and  spectral 
wood, 
And  all  that  greets  thine  ear  and  eye 

Sends  eerie  echoes  through  thy  blood, 
Oh,  close  the  door  and  come  within 
Where  never  winter's  chill  may  win; 

For  here,  my  dear, 
Proportioned  to  thy  need  of  me 
The  measure  of  my  love  shall  be. 

When  boding  night-winds  snarl  and  moan 

'Round  gabled  roof  and  frosted  pane, 
'Tis  not  our  common  hearth  alone 

That  makes  the  winds'  forebodings  vain, 
But  those  twin  sparks  of  fire  divine 
It  feeds  from  in  thy  heart  and  mine; 

For  here,  my  dear. 
Thy  need  of  me,  my  need  of  thee. 
The  measure  of  our  love  must  be. 


I90  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 


A   SONG   FOR   DECEMBER 

THE  earth's  shroud  is  embossed 
With  gems  of  twinkhng  frost; 

The  heavens  snap  with  cold. 
A  wind  mysterious  thrills, 
Above  the  sleeping  hills, 

With  music  sweet  and  old. 
The  stars  sang  one  December 

And  shake  with  music  yet; 
For  aye  they  will  remember. 

Although  the  world  forget, 
The  God-child's  birth-cry  ringing 

From  out  a  lowly  place 
That  set  the  planets  singing 

In  farthest  fields  of  space. 

From  warm  sweet  depths  of  sleep 
Where  little  child-hearts  keep 
Their  faith  until  the  morn, 
Beyond  the  sunset  bars 
To  shake  the  farthest  stars 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  191 

Another  song  is  borne. 
Their  hopeful  dreams  ascending 

In  waves  of  music  flow, 
A  joyous  chorus  blending 

With  that  of  long  ago. 
With  song  the  night  is  teeming, 

But,  oh,  how  mute  we  are, 
Who  have  nor  faith  for  dreaming 

Nor  wisdom  of  the  star! 


192  C  A  R  M  I  N  A 

L'ENVOI 

TO   A   TENANT 
OU  found  this  house,  dear  lady,  over 


Y 


run 

With  noisome  things  that  wait  upon  decay^ 
All  pent  within  it  mouldering  in  the  grey, 
Sick  gloom  of  long  disuse  whose  webs  were 

spun 
Through  all  its  halls.    You  entered,  and, 
the  sun 
And  God's  air  coming  with  you,  swept 

away 
All  ugliness  and  squalor,  on  that  day 
When  first  your  life-long  leasehold  was  be- 
gun. 

You  tell  me  now  your  house,  this  heart  of 
mine. 
Is  warm  and  ever-beautiful  and  fair, 
And  call  me  benefactor,  nor  divine 


C  A  R  M  I  N  A  193 

How  little  debt  you  owe,   how   much  I 

bear 
To  you  who  made  this  shabby  place  a  shrine 
On  that  sweet  day  when  first  you  entered 

there. 


i- 


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